ue (^M &a Wm R S^W^^Wm Publisher, :^J r ^ W^ms&z P^% ^J^m% A/^1^ ^^fW^% DELSARTE Recitation Book AND DIRECTORY EDITED BY ELSIE M. WILBOR ORIGINAL, ILLUSTRATIONS lx^» SECOND EDITION. REVISED AND ENLARGED. New York EDGAR S. WERNER 1893 S AUG 18 1393 ^£Mvasv^ Copyright, 1889, 1893 BY EDGAR S. WERNER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED W5^ CONTENTS. PAGE. A' Aboot It. William Lyle, . .197 Absolution. E. Nesbit, . 72 Anne Hathaway, . . .100 At the Tunnel's Mouth. Fred Lyster, 12 Auctioning off the Baby, 117 Au Re voir. Austin Dobson, 310 Baby's First Tooth, The, 268 B. B. Romance, The. Edgar Fawcett Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, 246 Bell of Innisfare, The, . . 96 Bird Among the Blooms, The. Marion Short, . . . 359 Boy's Conclusion, A, 195 Bread. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. Translated by Elsie 31. Wilbor. Suggestive Analysis by Mrs. Genevieve Stebbins, 214 Brita's Wedding. Rev. W. W. Marsh, 303 Candor. H. C. Banner, 194 Civil War. Translated by Lucy H. Hooper, . . . 265 Cobra, The. Miller Hageman. Illustrated, . . . 129 Conversational, . .153 Count Gismond. Robert Browning, ..... 157 Desolation. Tom Massov, 325 Discussion, The, 150 Doll Drill, The. Adelaide Nor r is. Music arranged by O. E. McFadon, 91 Drops. Peter Robertson, 240 Dutch Lullaby, A. Eugene Field, 10 Even This Shall Pass Away, 165 Ever so Far Away. Von Boyle, 219 Faith and Works. William H. Montgomery, . . . 136 hi iv CONTENTS. PAGE. First Banjo, The, 21 Government Spy, The. W. W. Story. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, 24 Grandfather Watts's Private Fourth. H. C. Banner, . 120 Haunted by a Song. With music, . . . . .113 Her Answer, 9 Her Lovers, 68 Hints for Statue-Poses. Elsie M. Wilbor, . . . .401 How Burlington was Saved. C. Mair, . . . .137 Hundred Louis d'Or, The. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. Translated by Mrs. S. H. Doiv. Suggestive Analysis by Mrs. Genevieve Stebbins, .... 1 Incident of the Johnstown Flood, An. Monnie Moore, . 49 Jack Hall's Boat-Race. Robert Grant. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, . . 181 Jimmy Brown's Dog. William L. Alden. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, 275 John Spicer on Clothes. Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz. Arranged by Elsie 31. Wilbor, , ... 285 Joker's Mistake, The. Pantomime. Lemuel B. C. Josephs, 41 Jo vita; or, The Christmas Gift. Bret Harte. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, 168 Kitchen Clock, The. John Vance Cheney. Illustrated, . 260 Ladies of Athens. Greek Play. Mrs. M. A. Lipscomb, . 78 Little White Beggars, The. Helen W. Ludlow, . . .118 Lord Clive. Robert Browning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. Analysis by F. Townsend Southwick, . .198 Lost, 31 Low-Backed Car, The. Samuel Lover. With music, . 153 Mammy's LiT Boy. H. S. Edwards, 262 Marriage of the Flowers, The. S. H. M. Byers, . . 187 Mary Jane and I. Annie Rothwell, 237 Massacre of Zoroaster, The. F. Marion Crawford. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. Music by Silas G. Pratt, . . 225 Masque of the New Year, The. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, 44 Men's Wicked Ways, .358 Mickey Free's Letter to Mrs. M'Gra. Charles T^ever. Ar- ranged by John A. MacCabe, 244 CONTENTS. v PAGE. Minister's Housekeeper, The. Mrs. H. B. Stoive. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, .101 Minuet, The. Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge. With music, . 33 Modern Version of the "Merchant of Venice," A. Joseph Barber, 122 Molly. Anita M. Kellogg, 15 News of the Day, . . .212 Oh, Sir! Translated by Alfred Ayres, .... 4 Old Church, The. H. H. Johnson, 191 OF Pickett's Nell. Mather D. Kimball, .... 272 Opal Ring, The. Gottlieb Lessing. Arranged by Sara S. Bice, 18 Perdita. Mrs. W. B. Jones, 53 Pet and Bijou. Helen Mar Bean, 251 Piano Music, .127 Playing School. Lida P. Caskin, . . . . .40 Proposal, The. Margaret Vandegrift, 167 Revolt of Mother, The. Mary E. Wilkins. Arranged by Eva Coscarden, . . . . '. . . . .317 Romance of a Year. Mrs. John Sherwood. With music, 280 Romaunt of the Page. Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor, 140 Schoolma'am's Courting, The. Florence E. Pyatt, . . 176 Shadow of a Song, The. Campbell Bae Brown, . . . 287 Silent Army of Memorial Day, The. Julia Clinton Jones, 333 Sisterly Scheme, A. H. C. Bunner. Arranged by Eliza A. McGill, 360 Snow-Flakes and Snow-Drifts. Mrs. Martha T. Gale, . 38 Spanish Gypsy, The. George Eliot, 327 Star-Spangled Banner, The. Jessie F. CDonnell, . . 299 Stanzas to Eternity. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. Translated by Elsie M. Wilbor. Illustrated, ... 70 Stately Minuet, The. Hezekiah Butterworth. With music, 292 Statue-Poses, Photographs of, 369 Story of Guggle. Thomas Speed, 338 Sue and Me. David Belasco, 148 Sword Drill, "Charge of the Light Brigade." Anna B. Webb. Illustrated, 255 Ten Robber Toes. Lillie E. Barr, 67 Thanksgiving Elopement, A. N. S. Emerson, . . .231 vi CONTENTS. Thanksgivin' Pumpkin Pies. Margaret E. Sangster, Their Mother, Tomb in Ghent, A. Adelaide Anne Procter, Tragedy of Sedan, A. Anna Katherine Green Rohlfs, Trumpeter's Betrothed, The. Translated by Lucy H. Hooper, T'ward Arcadie. Egan Mew, . . Voices of the Wildwood. Mrs. Ella Sterling Cummins With music, Volunteer Organist, The. S. W. Eoss, .... Wedding-Gown, The. Etta W. Pierce, What Ailed the Pudding. Josephine Pollard, What Was It ? Sidney Dayre, Why my Father Left the Army. Charles Lever, Ar ranged by John A. MacCabe, . . . Wife's Lament, A. Will H. Cadmus, .... Wish-bone, The. Leon Mead, PAGE. 270 309 346 108 162 314 64 241 353 29 357 58 178 302 Biographical Sketch of Francois Delsarte. Steele MacKaye, xi Index to Advertisers, 402 INDEX TO AUTHORS. PAGE. Alden, William L., ........ 275 Ayres, Alfred, •. . . 4 Barber, Joseph, . . . 122 Barr, Lillie E., 67 Bean, Helen Mar. 251 Belasco, David, 148 Browning, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett, . . . .140 Browning, Eobert, 157, 198 Bunner, H. C., 120, 194, 360 BUTTERWORTH, HEZEKIAH 292 Byers, S. H. M., 187 Cadmus, Will H., 178 Caskin, Lida P., 40 Cheney, John Vance. 260 Coscarden, Eva, 317 Crawford, F. Marion, . . . . . . 225 Cummins, Mrs. Ella Sterling, 64 Dayre, Sidney, 357 Diaz, Mrs. Abby Morton, 285 Dobson, Austin, . .310 Dodge, Mrs. Mary Mapes, 33 Dow, Mrs. S. H., 1 Edwards, H. S 262 Eliot, George, 327 Emerson, N. S., 231 Fawcett, Edgar, 246 Field, Eugene, 10 Foss, S. W., 241 Gale, Mrs. Martha T., 38 Grant, Robert, 181 Hageman, Miller, 129 Harte, Bret, . . . 168 Hooper, Mrs. Lucy H., ...... 162, 265 vii viii INDEX TO A UTHORS. PAGE. Johnson, H. H., . .191 Jones, Julia Clinton, 333 Jones, Mrs. W. R, 53 Josephs, Lemuel B. C, . . . .. . . .41 Kellogg, Anita M., 15 Kimball, Mather D., 272 Lessing, Gottlieb, 18 Lever, Charles, 58, 244 Lipscomb, Mrs. M. A., 78 Lover, Samuel, .153 Ludlow, Helen W., 118 Lyle, William, 197 Lyster, Fred, 12 MacCabe, John A., .53, 244 McFadon, O. E., . . . . -. . . . 94, 95 McGill, Eliza A., 137 MacKaye, Steele, . . xi Mair, C, . .360 Marsh, Eev. W. W., 303 Masson, Tom, 325 Mead, Leon, 302 Mew, Egan, 314 Montgomery, William H., 136 Moore, Monnie, . . . . . ... .49 Nesbit, E., 72 Norris, Adelaide, 91 O'Donnell, Jessie F., . , 299 Pierce, Etta W., . . 353 Pollard, Josephine, 29 Pratt, Silas G., ■ . . . . . . . . .229 Procter, Adelaide Anne, 346 Pyatt, Florence E., . . . . . . . . 176 Kae-Brown, Campbell, . 287 Eice, Sara Sigourney, 18 Robertson, Peter, 240 Rohlfs, Anna Katherine Green, . . . \ .108 Rothwell, Annie, 237 Russell, Irwin, . . . . . . . .21 Sangster, Mrs. Margaret E., 270 Sherwood, Mrs. John, * . . . 280 INDEX TO A UTHORS. ix PAGE. Short, Marion, . . . 359 southwick, f. townsend, 205 Speed, Thomas, 338 Stebbins, Mrs. Genevieve, 3, 217 Story, W. W., 24 Stowe, Mrs. H. B., . . . . . . . .101 Vandegrift, Margaret, . . . . . . .167 Von Boyle, 219 Webb, Anna B., . . 255 Wilbor, Elsie M., 24, 44, 70, 101, 140, 168, 181, 198, 214, 225, 246, 275, 285, 302 Wilkins, Mary E., ........ 317 ^ J^rT ^M?\ ^£x TT ^rr^vi^ NOTICE Every piece in the Delsarte Recitation Book, with two or three exceptions, has been either written, translated, arranged, or adapted specially for the book. Every se- lection is protected by me by copyright. All persons are therefore hereby warned against reprinting any of these recitations, as no infringement of the copyright will be per- mitted. I hereby cordially thank the following publishers for their courtesy in making special arrangements whereby I am permitted to use their copyright matter : Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for " Jovita," "The Minister's Housekeeper," and " The Government Spy." Messrs. Jordan, Marsh & Co. for " Jack Hall's Boat- Race. " The New England Journal of Education for " The Stately Minuet." Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls for " The B. B. Romance." Messrs. Bromfield & Co. for " Jimmy Brown's Dog." The D. Lothrop Co. for" John Spicer on Clothes." Miss Mary E. Wffidns for "The Eevolt of Mother." Messrs. Keppler & Schwarzmann for " A Sisterly Scheme." EDITOR. FRANCOIS DELSARTE. IN 1811, in Solesmes, France, was born a child who was destined to achieve the greatest triumphs in art, to contribute the deepest knowledge to science, and to command the most marvelous homage in so- ciety. This child was christened Frangois Delsarte. When Delsarte was but six years of age his father died a bankrupt. His mother took him and his brother to Paris, hoping to earn there a livelihood. But disap- pointment, toil, poverty, and despair soon achieved their cruel work. The mother died suddenly, leaving her boys friendless waifs, to drift at the mercy of the fearful flood of Parisian life. This was not the last blow that death was to deal to the tender heart of this desolate child. The winter of 1821 was unusually severe in Paris. One night, in a deserted loft, two little boys entwined in each other's arms lay fast asleep. The sleep of one of them was eternal ; and when morning broke, Francois Delsarte was hugging to his heart the starved and frozen body of his brother. Returning from the grave that December day, Del- sarte experienced what might be called an inspiration. Passing alone across the plains of Pere la Chaise, cold, weariness, hunger, and grief overcame him, and he fell xi xii FRAN QO IS DELS ARTE. fainting in the snow [see page 71]. Reviving from the fit, his senses were suddenly entranced by a vision. Ex- quisite forms and colors floated before his eyes; a won- drous ecstasy filled his mind ; celestial music cried into his ears and flooded his soul with harmonies which he after- ward said haunted him through life. There, prostrate on the earth, alone, helpless, and half dead, deserted by men, — thus did divine love seem to draw near to this rare soul ; heaven seemed to open before him, and its voices revived the artist-being in his shrunken frame. The mystic experience of that strange hour penetrated the inmost recesses of his soul, to fill him with a frantic but a divine passion for beauty and harmony of expression. When the boy awoke from that entrancing vision to the diabolic realities of the world, he beheld bending above him the grotesque figure of a chiffonier, who, in seeking rags, had found a treasure among men, whose value to the world the poor wretch little suspected. This rag-picker, touched by the forlorn condition of the dying child, lifted his limp body from the rubbish, threw him in among the rags in his basket, and carried him to his den. Thus Delsarte, afterward publicly crowned by a monarch's hand, and called " the king of art," began his public career as a Parisian rag-picker! Two years passed, during which the little chiffonier wandered through the streets in search of rags and music. He gathered more songs than rags, however, and was lured away from the most promising pile of rubbish by every band of strolling minstrels. One summer afternoon in 1823 the band of the Na- tional Guard was discoursing airs in the garden of the Tuileries, and a poor, ragged boy sat on the ground near by, making strange signs in the sand. An eccen- tric old man, impressed by the youthful face, and puz- zled by the odd actions of the little beggar, watched FRAN go IS DELS ARTE. xiii him [see page ]. When the band ceased playing the old man spoke : " What are you doing there?" The boy drew back abashed and frightened. " Do not fear, my child," said the stranger, " I mean you no harm. Tell me the meaning of these signs in the sand. What have you been writing here ?" " Music," said the boy. " Music ? What do you mean by that, child ?" " I mean, monsieur, that I have written here the music of the soldiers." " Oh, you call these musical signs !" said the old man with an incredulous smile. " Yes, monsieur, they are signs of the song the band has just been playing." The old man looked sharply at the sand and said: " I am a musician, yet I cannot read these signs. Can you read them ?" " Oh, easily, indeed !" He began to suspect the sanity of the boy. " Let me hear you read them." The poor child, touched by this unexpected interest, sang, with childlike simplicity and naivete, the melodies he had written in the sand, pointing out, as he did so, the queer, original signs denoting the musical sounds. "Who taught you these extraordinary signs?" asked the old man in amazement. " No one." " How did you learn them ?" " Oh, monsieur, I dared to imagine them myself." The undeveloped genius of this child, not yet twelve years of age, had responded to his burning passion for music, enabling him to devise an entirely new, though rough and imperfect, method of musical notation. Thanks to his genius, his prospects in life were sud- xiv FRANCOIS DELS ARTE. denly changed ; and the boy who had entered the park a forlorn rag-picker, left it to become the adopted son of one of the most benevolent and remarkable musical men of that day, Pere Bambini. In less than two years Delsarte was admitted to the Conservatoire. At eigh- teen he had a leading position upon the operatic boards of Paris. When he was twenty-one he had made quite a fortune, and had married the daughter of the di- rector of the Grand Opera House. When Delsarte had been a year at the Conservatoire, Pere Bambini died. He was left in great poverty, and was obliged to go through the streets in a costume which ranked him among the lower classes. He was determined to get upon the stage. He had studied the leading roles in opera, and persistently applied at the Grand Opera House for an opportunity to be heard. His persistence became a nuisance to the ogre in charge of the stage-door. He reported it to the director of the opera, who said: " Leave the fellow to me. I will teach him a lesson. The next time he applies show him to my room." The next time happened to be during the performance of an opera. He was shown to the direc- tor, a very stern, business-like man, who hated what he called artistic tramps, and regarded Delsarte as one of them. He saw the pitiable condition in which the man was clothed. He said : " What do you want ?" " I want an opportunity to be heard. I seek a posi- tion, and I should be glad to take any position which your estimate of my merits may think proper." " Oh, you wish to be heard? All right. Are you ready to be heard now, at once ?" " Certainly, monsieur, at any time. I shall be only too glad and too grateful to be heard." " Very well, wait here. I will let you know when I am ready." He went below and said to the curtain- FRANCOIS DELSARTE. xv man: "When the curtain drops on the next act run on two flats in front, put on the piano, and let me know when you are ready." When this was done he sent for Delsarte, and said : " Do you see that piano there, in front of those flats? You wish to be heard, you say. Have you the courage to go on there and show me before this public what you can do ?" The director little dreamed of the unconquerable courage in that noble heart, or he never would have dared to propose such a thing to this youth. Delsarte's first impulse was one of indignation. But this was suc- ceeded by a sense of the fact that his future depended upon the grit which he showed at that moment, and turning, he said: "Yes, monsieur. You ask of me something that has never been asked before ; if I can- not succeed with my public I have nothing to ask of vou." The curtain was rung up, and Delsarte in seedy clothes and with his stockings showing through the holes in his shoes, walked on. At first the people were puzzled, then amused, and saluted him with jeers and laughter. He turned and made a bow to them so princely and noble, that they were obliged to recognize the royalty of his soul. He passed to the piano, ran his fingers over it, and began to sing a song that held them spell- bound. When he had finished, he was greeted with thrilling cheers from every part of the house. He was recalled again and again, and when at last he went be- hind the scenes it was to be greeted by the director with a contract for three years at iooo francs a month. After a few years of marvelous success, and when his artistic prospects were extraordinary, he lost his voice entirely for one year. He was obliged to abandon his career upon the stage, and forced to earn his living as a xvi FRANCOIS DELS ARTE, private teacher instead of as a public performer. It was this calamity, or what appeared as such at that time, which led Delsarte to his grand and noble career; for it induced him to search after a natural and scientific basis for art, which eventually made him the greatest master of expression. Delsarte became convinced that his loss of voice was owing to the pernicious methods of vocal training then in vogue at the Conservatoire. He had discovered by experience there that art was taught empirically and perniciously. He felt that there existed in nature a certain philosophy, a certain net-work of laws, which alone could decide what was right and what was wrong, and he determined to devote his life to the discovery of those laws. He did so, and acquired a reputation so great that he attracted many pupils. Rachel, Duprez, Pere Hyacinth, and many more of the greatest artists of France, serve as the best illustrations of his masterly method. Soon kings and princes, artists and authors, sculptors and singers, came to him. He was called the greatest of orators, and declared the monarch of art: 11 This master possesses a method so perfect, a style so pure, a passion soprofound, that there is none in all art so noble or divine''' STEELE MACK A YE. Delsarte Recitation Book THE HUNDRED LOUIS D'OR. Translated by Mrs. Sabrina H. Dow. [Mme. Arnaud, in her charming reminiscences of Delsarte, mentions particularly the reciting of the " Hundred Louis d'Or," by Darcier, one of the most distinguished pupils of the master, and says that it attracted great attention. The selection is a typical French one, even to the odd little anticlimax bringing in the, to the French, all-important dowry of the bride. — Editor.] NE evening, under the poplars' shade, Along the shore of the river dark, Near the mill where dwelt my miller maid, There strode a tall man, stalwart and stark. His mustache was gray, his mantle blue, A queer, round hat half hid his face; So strange he looked as near he drew — "Tis the Devil," I said, "or the Lord, by his grace." Then his voice like trumpet of brass rang out Through the still air, as he said to me: "Follow me to the forest, nor doubt A hundred louis I'll give to thee." And his wizard eye, with fateful charm, Drew me, helpless ; I could not recede; On, on to the wood, for good or harm, I went, nor thought of the promised meed, When the astonishment or the surprise is not intense enough to shake the frame, the head, wherein all the surprise is concentrated, is lifted and ex- alted. — Delsarte. 2 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. He seemed not to run, though swift as deer Was his course, and I, with fright o'ercome And fev'rish burning, thought death was near. To restore me, in that brazen tone, Icy cold, he shouted once more: " To the depths of the wood but follow on And I'll give thee a hundred louis d'or." Into the thick of the wood we came; The night to Stygian darkness fell. Upward each green tree shot a green flame; I knew by the din 'twas the gate to hell. Then suddenly changed, his body bare, Stood my sorcerer. " Ho !" I said To myself, as his eyes glittered red^ "The Devil, no doubt, for I can tell By his horned front, and tail, as w T ell. ,, He showed me then an open book, With empty pages, and bade me look, While he asked, his harsh voice somewhat lower, "Would you gain a hundred louis d'or? " Then swear by your soul, swear by your life, Swear by the Devil and by the Lord, Never to take to your arms a wife, Neither from hamlet, nor farm, nor town, Until your fortieth year has flown. Let the world see you, day after day, Your soul ne'er held to a single one, Flitting from folly to folly alway, Like a gay butterfly under the sun." The page turned crimson beneath his claw, While his brassy voice resounded cold: Under the influence of passion , the voice rises with a brilliancy corre- sponding in proportion to the magnitude of the thing it would express , and becomes lowered to express smallness or meanness.— Delsakte, DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. " Sign here and a hundred louis d'or I'll give to thee in ringing gold." Instead of signing upon the place The Devil marked with his bloody grip, "'Twere better," I thought, " a cross to trace," Which I did, a prayer upon my lip. At this, his Majesty fled in smoke; And quickly I was transported again To the mill-chamber, and my dear maid, Oh, never so dear to me as then. " See here," she said, " I give all to thee — My heart, my mill, my treasure-store." Then in copper sous she gave to me, In all, a hundred louis d'or ! SUGGESTIVE ANALYSIS. Genevieve Stebbins. I should advise no one who has not acquired the dy- namic voice — a voice with moving power back of it — to attempt this selection. The strongest use of psychic vision, a vivid imagination, is here necessary; to make an audience see and feel, the reciter himself must first be impressed with the reality of the scene. The con- trast between the mystic voice of the narrator and the brazen resonance of that of the demon must be brought out, but not too abruptly. Horror combined with fascination should be expressed in the voice when the real character of the fiend is revealed; the man is tempted, and the struggle must be shown. The thought of the cross suggests the prayer, and the voice should express appeal, and then peace and calm. The maiden's voice should be that of love and tenderness. In the first stanza, the action is outward, the gestures descriptive; the Devil beckons the man to follow. Oratorical art is the means of expressing the emotions of the soul by the play of the organs. It is the sum total of rules and laws resulting from the reciprocal action of mind and body. — Delaumosn'E. « — ■■ ■ --— -* 4 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. In the second stanza, the action is that of following, with raised hands, bent knees, and eyes opened wide, as if charmed; the Devil turns his head over his shoulder to shout his temptation. In the third stanza, the man sees each horror he de- scribes, and shudders and recoils from it; but at the vision of the fiend revealed, he stands paralyzed with fear, arms thrown up over the head, knees bent and trembling, chest sunken. The Devil's action should be the opposite: bold and commanding, but the face concentrated with hate and the eyes pinched. When the sign of the cross is made, the attitude becomes one of exaltation, and the action and expression should be of calm and love. OH, SIR! Translated and Adapted by Alfred Ayres. A YOUNG girl of sixteen, lithe, fair, and fresh, who has just laid aside her convent gown, and bidden good-by to her convent chums, is now at home and to remain. Alone in the drawing-room, the door of which is closed, with an air in which there's something of rev- erie, yet more of vanity, she contemplates the effect of her transformation from school-girl to demoiselle. She runs her tap'ring fingers through her curls, con- fines a refractory end of lace, gives a toss to her shapely head, and smiles. With sweet self she is content. Suddenly the door is opened. She crimsons to the eyes thus to be surprised, surrounded on three sides as she is by Venetian mirrors. " Ah, it's you, mamma!" she cries, and hastens to throw her arms around her mother's neck. These little _ + The shoulder, in every man who is agitated or moved, rises in exact propor- tion to the intensity of his emotion. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 5 ways in daughters are ever pleasing to mammas. This mamma is most indulgent, still young, a widow, and a baroness. " Daughter, dear, whence comes this emotion ? You need have no fears I shall reproach you." " But, mamma, I have great fears." " Fears ? You ?— of what ?" "Of everything, mamma, of everything !" " Of everything? That's vague." " Of the world, mamma. For at the convent they told us of the world so much that's bad. They painted it in such colors that I shudder when I recall them. Xhey haunt me often in my dreams. Yesterday I was but a school-girl; to-day I am a demoiselle. Childlike prattle no longer becomes me; now, all must be studied, dignified, imposing. Why, mamma, I am timid, ill at ease even with my cousin Charles, a simple student. Suppose a young man, a stranger, were to speak to me — what should my answer be ? Should it be always ' Yes ?' " " Not for the world, my daughter !" " Well, then, I'll answer, < No ! ' " "That, too, is seldom prudent." "But, mamma — " "'No' and 'yes' from maiden lips have oft been known to compromise." " What shall I answer, then ?" " A word that says nothing. ' Oh, sir ! ' for example. Of 'Oh, sir!' can come no harm; and said in fitting tone, ' Oh, sir ! ' does very well. ' Oh, sir ! ' now in this tone, ' Oh, sir ! ' now in that, with a graceful salutation — how many in high places are puzzled to answer more !" The theories of Delsarte, far from hampering the free expansion of art, do but enlarge its horizon, and prepare a broader field for its harmonies. — Arnaud. 6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. "Thank you, mamma. I'm already reassured. I shall answer always ' Oh, sir ! - with studious care." And now the baroness withdraws, as to herself she says: " From these two words there's surely naught to fear." A few minutes have elapsed, when again the door is opened. A footman, who, thinking the baroness still in the drawing-room, w r ith a wooden mien and in sonorous tones announces: "Viscount Albert de Monsablon." The viscount is charming: in bearing, all he should be — young, tall, graceful, a very man of fashion. On see- ing Bertha alone, her big, blue eyes timidly cast down, for a moment he puts on the air of one embarrassed, though in truth the traitor is delighted with the mis- adventure. "Miss Bertha! in Paris! Accident provides for me a charming surprise. With the convent now you're done forever, let us hope. Now the paternal fireside will be light and bright as ne'er before. May I be per- mitted to share its warmth ?" "Oh, sir!" "I stood before you last autumn dumb with amaze- ment. You had grown so stately, so beautiful — " "Oh, sir!" " How stupid I did appear !" " Oh, sir !" " But that should not surprise you. When last I had seen you, you were deeply absorbed in robing in satin a pair of Christmas doll-babies. Now, you will dress doll-babies no more." " Oh, sir !" "What a long way off are those days now! Now * The arm should move gently toward the object it wishes to caress Under the rapid action of surprise, therefore, it could only injure or repel that ob- ject. — Dels arte. * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 7 your dolls lie neglected in odd corners. You have other pastimes, other joys. Do you like to dance?" "Oh, sir!" "Nothing more natural. You are at that age when balls possess their greatest charm. For a month one dreams of one's attire. At first, of a flounce or two of airy tulle or of a cloud of discreet gauze. Then, of a rose, coquette, fast knotted in the hair; of pearls in graceful coils; of an aigret of sparkling gems; of neck- laces of rubies, sapphires, diamonds — " "Oh, sir!" " When you are older, you will have a husband to provide you with jewels. It is a privilege that custom accords us men. But now you are so young !" "Oh, sir!" "It was just at this season that we played together under the park trees. Do you remember?" "Oh, sir!" " I see you now — such a little thing ! — your luxuriant curls too heavy for their silken netting — running here and there under the big trees, ankle-deep in the daisies and buttercups. And then we played at mimic war. Your big brother organized the combats. He was the general, we the soldiers." "Oh, sir!" " What happy days were those — days of joy, of rap- ture; of projects wild, of vows half foolish ! Even now my heart leaps as I recall them !" " Oh, sir !" " Will they ever have a morrow ? Are they not to you a memory, vague, uncertain, intangible, like a phantasm seen by moonlight in some deserted churchyard ?" There are three forms of expression by which man outwardly reveals his inward experiences. The first is pantomimic; the second is vocal; the last is verbal. — Steele Mackaye. * 8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. "Oh, sir!" " But how I hope you'll comprehend me, as I stand before you, gazing in your eyes, when in my rapturous delirium I tell you — I am most unhappy !" " Oh, sir !" " You are kind, you are good. I see it in your eyes. You pity me. Yet my distress surprises you." "Oh, sir!" " Do I see aright, or is't a dream ? I do see aright; you do comprehend me ! Ah, it's in bliss like this that one might wish to die !" " Oh, sir !" " Ah, heaven, for me, opens wide its gates! All is joyous in my heart; there, all is melody — the melody of the spheres ! Bear with me; I thought myself far stronger. Your accents fill my soul with bliss ecstatic. Speak I must, else I perish. Bertha, will you be mine, forever mine ?" "Oh, sir!" " I know I follow not the form; but could I wait a little week ? — could I wait e'en till to-morrow ? I ask but only you !" " Oh, sir !" " Will you love me as I love you ? No, no, that were too much; but I await my doom. Bertha, will you love me just a little ?" " Oh, sir !" At this juncture, wide open swings the parlor-door, and with an austere mien the baroness appears upon the scene. " Ah, madame, you see in me a man beside himself with joy ! Give me Bertha !" . * Under the influence of sentiment, the smallest and most insignificant things that we may wish to represent proportion themselves to the degree of acuteness of the sounds, which become softened in proportion as they rise. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 9 "Heh! What do I hear?" " I love her, and — " " Sir ! sir ! not before her !" " But she loves me too t" " What !" " Mamma, dear, don't be cruel ! H " Bertha, have you — " " No, mamma, no ! Fve followed your instructions to the letter; and I will follow them always, I promise you. But it's very strange; I hardly dare to think of it. To say that one loves, two words suffice. Indeed, I begin to think, mamma, that even fewer than two would suffice !" HER ANSWER. " V^OUNG man proposed to me last night." " You can't mean that ?" " Indeed, it's true; Asked me to be his wife outright." " Good gracious, dear ! What did you do ?" " Poor boy ! He looked so handsome, Nell." " Handsome ! A clerk on weekly pay Asks you — a beauty and a belle ! But tell me what he dared to say." " Well — first, he loved me !" " Oh, that part Of course ! What else ?" " And that he thought I was the sort of girl whose heart Would never let itself be bought. " He said he was a man — that I Was just a woman, equal so b * A perfect reprodtiction of the outer manifestation of some passion* the ving of TEBBINS, giving of the outer sign, will cause a reflex feeling within.— Genevieve S -+ io DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. In youth, health, brain we stood, and — why, You'd think he never dreamed of no. " That he was poor need be no bar — " " Well ! what an attitude to take !" " For love would prove the guiding star To fame and fortune, for my sake. " And then he begged my heart and hand." " Such impudence ! who'd ever guess ? — I hope you made him understand His place ?" " I did— I told him < Yes ! ' " A DUTCH LULLABY Eugene Field. A A 7YNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe; Sailed on a river of misty light Into a sea of dew. " Where are you going, and what do you wish ?" The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we," Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. * Given a rising form, such as the ascending scale, there will be intensitive progression when this form should express passion {whether impulse, excite- ment, or vehemence). There will be, on the other hand, a diminution of in- tensity where this same form should express sentiment . — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. \\ The old moon laughed and sang a song As they rocked in the wooden shoe, And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in the beautiful sea; " Now cast your nets wherever you wish, But never a-feared are we," So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. All night long their nets they threw For the fish in the twinkling foam; Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home; 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they dreamed, Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three — - Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head; And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, Certain attitudes, by extending or contracting the muscles, by compelling the breath to come and go more rapidly, by increasing the heart-beats, cause physical interior sensations which are the correspondences of emotion. — Gen- evieve Stebbins. 12 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock on the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. AT THE TUNNEL'S MOUTH Fred Lyster. T \ TE was workin' at the tunnel's mouth, Joe, Bob, and Jim, and I, A-pilin' up the blocks of stone, A-pilin' of 'em high. For the frost had been tremenjous hard, An' the facing had given away, An' we was workin' with a will To fix up all that day. For next day would be Sunday, An' jist a year agone Jim an' my sister Mary Had turned two into one. An' then, last Wednesday was a week 7 A baby Jim was born, An' he a Christian should be made Upon Jim's weddin' morn. So Jim, old Jim, had axed his mates- Joe, Bob, and Bill — that's me — Sentiment and passion proceed in an inverse way. Passion strengthens the voice in proportion as it rises, and sentiment \ on the contrary, softens it in due ratio to its intensity. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 13 To stand by while the job was done, An' wind up with a spree — A modest one, a glass or two, A pipe, a yarn, a song, Jist to cheer the young un's entrance In this here world of sin an' wrong, As some folks calls it, — though I thinks We make ourselves the curse, And, as the proverb says, " we might Go farther an* fare worse." Jim, he was Butty o' the gang, An' up or down the line A finer fellow never stepped, No, nor yet half so fine. He'd share his last crust with a friend; And as for child or wife — Why, there ain't no use a-talkin' — He'd jist lay down his life For one sweet smile from Mary, Or a kiss from Baby Jim, Or a good square hug from either, — 'Twas all the same to him. Well, we kep' chattin' o' the fun We'd have to-morrow's day, An' layin' out what songs we'd sing An' what fine games we'd play, When, jist as we had hysted up The last block on the bank, It pitched away, and thundered down The steep an' slipp'ry plank; The full, vital resurrection of the regenerated cesthetic man must be pre- ceded by the unifying or blending of his inheritances from objective nature, and of his mental, subjective acquirements. — Franklin H. Sargent. * 14 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK An' there upon the line it lay, Right slap acrost the rail. What sound is that as makes us start, An' tremble, an' turn pale ? A stifled shriek — a louder — A rumbling deep an' low. Tis the " Flying Dutchman's" signal: She's in the tunnel now ! An' there upon the line — the stone, Full in our awestruck view, An' in another minute now The lightning-train is due. Jim stopped for neither look nor word; With face stern set an' pale, An' steadfast eyes, he made no move, But leaped down on the rail. He seized the massy block of stone, An' shoved it clear aside; But, e'er his feet he could regain, Came, with remorseless glide, The murd'rous engine, an' we heard One heart-appalling scream, We saw a ghastly face turn up Through mists of hissing steam! An' seven hundred souls was saved; But Jim had given his life As ransom for them all. No thought Of child, nor friend, nor wife; But, seeing what there was to do, He did it — there an end. We move away from the thing which we contemplate, to prove to it, doubt- less, the respect and veneration that it inspires. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 15 No; I'm not crying mate, although If you had lost a friend So kind, so honest, an' so true As dear old Jim, no fear, No blame, if you should feel Sometimes a trifle queer About the eyes, an' if your heart Against your ribs should thump, An' in your throat should sometimes rise A nasty, choking lump. But with no pride or pomp of rank, Nor hope of laurel wreath, He leaped from off that grassy bank Into the jaws of death. MOLLY. Anita M. Kellogg. \\ 7 HEN folks grow old I wonder why They seem to forget their youth gone by. And whatever we do are so prone to say, "It wasn't so in my young day!" I think it's hard I should be chid For things I'm sure my parents did. For how did my father get him a wife, If he never went courting in his life ? Always retain a gesture as long as the same thought or emotion is retained, or as long as you remain in the same mood.— Genevieve Stebbins. 1 6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. And how did my mother know it, pray, If she didn't listen when he said his say? Now, they forget all this, and I Must do my courting on the sly. Whenever they see me, by night or day, Walking and talking — you know the way, — One or the other always calls me, But listen, — this is what befalls me. Every morning at early dawn, When the dew shines bright on field and lawn, And the birds are singing sweet and clear, I must drive the cows to the pasture near. Now, as it happens, quite frequently, Robin More by the bars will be; But if I stop to say, " Good-morrow!" I am reminded to my sorrow. * A voice rings out on the morning air: [Calling.] " Molly! Molly! don't idle there! There's work to do, and you have your share!" Down by the wood is a mossy stile — The nicest place to chat awhile; But sure's I sit there with Robin More, A voice is heard from our kitchen door [Calling, ,] "Molly! Molly! see those cows!" I look around, and there they browse: Dapple, Peachblow, Bose and Rover, Knee-deep in the rich, red clover, A salutation without moving shows but little reverence, and should only occur in the case of an equal or an inferior. — Delsarte. DEISARTE RECITATION BOOK. \j Whisking their tails impatiently, As that shrill voice floats out to me: [Calling.'] " Molly! Molly! Where are you ? Don't you know there's work to do ? Molly! Molly! Drive those cows Down into the milking-shed!" At twilight, when the quiet air Is trembling with the sheen of stars, I sometimes meet with Robin there, And he lets down the bars. Then, should we linger side by side, Or stroll along the dusky lane, Through the tender hush of the even-tide, That voice rings out again: [Calling.] " Molly ! Molly ! Come right in ! You're twice as long as you should have been; The cows are straying, — close that gate ! Don't mind Robin, — he can wait." Now, Robin loves me, this I know; But he doesn't get a chance to tell me so ! He looks it, and acts it, and once, last night, As we sat on the porch in the soft starlight, He took my hand and held it tight; But just as he opened his mouth to speak, (For the thousandth time within this week,) We heard that voice in the self-same shriek: There should be btit #ne strong climax in a perfect work of art. The artist should work steadily toward that climax. — Moses True Brown. 18 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. [Cat ling. ~\ " Molly ! The cows are in the clover ! Go right down and drive them over, Be quick about it. Don't you wait, — Just let Robin fasten that gate !" It's always so, and if old folks have their way I never shall know to my dying day What it was Robin was about to say. THE OPAL RING, Gottlieb Lessing. Arranged by Sara S. Rice. [This sketch is in regard to the true religion. Nathan says, " I am a Jew," and Saladin, " I am a Mussulman," and between them is the Christian. But one of these religions is true ; which one is it ? Na- than, not wishing to make a direct reply, relates the following story.] T N gray antiquity there lived a man In Eastern lands, who had received a ring Of priceless worth from a beloved hand. Its stone, an opal, flashed a hundred colors, And had the secret power of giving favor, In sight of God and man, to him who wore it With a believing heart. What wonder, then, This Eastern man would never put the ring From off his finger, and should so provide That to his house it should be preserved forever? Such was the case. Unto the best beloved Among his sons he left the ring, enjoining 4- The prof ound obscurity into ivhich light plunges us does not prevent the light from being; and the chaos of ideas which, most generally, results from our examination of things, proves nothing against the harmonies of their consti- tution. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 19 That he, in turn, bequeath it to the son Who should be dearest ; and the dearest ever, In virtue of the ring, without regard To birth, be of the house the prince and head. From son to son the ring, descending, came To one, the sire of three ; of whom all three Were equally obedient ; whom all three He, therefore, must with equal love regard. And yet, from time to time, now this, now that, And now the third, as each alone, by The others not dividing his fond heart, Appears to him the worthiest of the ring ; Which, then, with loving weakness he would promise To each in turn. Thus it continued long. But he must die ; and the loving father Was sore perplexed. It grieved him thus to wound The faithful sons who trusted in his word. But what to do? In secrecv he calls An artist to him, and commands of him Two other rings, the pattern of his own ; And bids him neither cost nor pains to spare To make them alike, precisely like to his. The artist's skill succeeds. He brings the rings, And e'en the father cannot tell his own. Relieved and joyful, summons he his sons, Each by himself ; to each one by himself He gives his blessing and his ring — and dies. The father was scarce dead, when each brings forth his ring, And claims the headship. Questioning ensues, In Proportion to the depth and majesty of the emotion is the deliberation and sloivness of the motion ; and, vice versa, in proportion to the superficial- ity and exphsiveness of the emotion. 7vill be the velocity of its expression in motion. — Genevieve Stebbins. 20 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Strife and appeals to law, but all in vain ; The genuine ring was not to be distinguished. The sons appealed to law, and each took oath Before the judge that from his father's hand He had the ring, — as was indeed the case. His father could not have been false to him, Each one maintained ; and rather than allow Upon the name of so dear a father Such stain to rest, he must against his brothers (Though gladly he would nothing but the best Believe of them) bring charge of treachery ; Means he would find the traitors to expose, And be revenged on them. 'Thus spoke the judge : " Produce your father At once before me, else from my tribunal 1 Do I dismiss you. Think you I am here To guess riddles ? Either would you wait Until the genuine ring shall speak ? But hold! A magic power in the true ring resides, As I am told, to make its wearer loved, Pleasing to God, to man. Let that decide. Which one among you, then, do two love best? Speak ! Are you silent ? Work the rings but backward, Not outward ? Loves each one himself the best ? Then cheated cheats are all of you ! The rings All are false. The genuine ring was lost, And to conceal, supply, the loss, the father Made three in place of one. " Go, therefore," said the judge, " unless my counsel You'd have in place of sentence. It were this : Accept the case exactly as it stands. Caressing, tender, and gentle emotions find their normal expression in high notes. — Delsakte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 21 Each had his ring directly from his father ; Let each believe his own is genuine. Tis possible your father would no longer His house to one ring's tyranny subject ; And certain that all three of you he loved, Loved equally, since two he would not humble That one might be exalted. Let each one To his unbought, impartial love aspire ; Each with the others vie to bring to light The virtue of the stone within the ring ; Let gentleness, a hearty love of peace, Beneficence, and perfect trust in God, Come to its help. Then, if the jewel's power Among your children's children be revealed, I bid you in a thousand thousand years Again before this bar. A wiser man than I Shall occupy this seat and speak. Go!" Thus the modest judge dismissed them. THE FIRST BANJO Irwin Russell. C^ O way, fiddle! folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squeak- ^ in', Keep silence fur yo' betters — don't you heah de banjo speakin' ? About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter — ladies, listen ! About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin'. * — — — — • Just in proportion t6 our insight and apprehension of all truth do we attain to a comprehension of a particular truth. — Mrs. Frank Stuart Parker. 22 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. " Dar's gwine to be a oberflow," said Noah, lookin' solemn — For Noah tuk de " Herald," an' he read de ribber col- umn — An' so he sot his hands to work a-cl'arin' timber-patches, An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steameh " Natchez." Ol' Noah kep' a-nailin', an' a-chippin', an' a-sawin' ; An' all de wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an' a- pshawin' ; But Noah didn't min' 'em — knowin' whut wuz gwine to happen ; An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drap- pin'. Now, Noah had done cotched a lot ob eb'ry sort o' beas'es, Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces ! He had a Morgan colt, an' seb'ral head o' Jarsey cattle, An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon's he heered de thunder rattle. De Ark she kep' a-sailin', an' a-sailin', an' a-sailin' ; De lion got his dander up, anMike to bruk de palin' ; De sarpints hissed, de painters yelled — tell, whut wid all de fussin', You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an' cussin'. Now, Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet, Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' couldn't stan' de racket ; The voice decreases i?i intensity in proportion as it rises higher; and, on the other hand, it increasesin intensity in proportion as it sinks lower. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 23 An' so, for to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an* bent it, An* soon he had a banjo made — de fust dat wuz in- vented. He wet de ledder, stretched it on ; made bridge, an' screws, an' apron ; An' fitted in a proper neck — 'twuz berry long an' ta- p'rin' ; He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it; An' den de mighty question riz, how wuz he gwine to string it ? De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin' ; De ha'rs so long, an' thick, an' strong, — des fit for banjo- stringin' ; Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as wash-day-dinner graces ; An' sorted ob 'em by de size, from little E's to basses. He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig — 'twuz " Nebber min' de Wedder" — She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder ; Some went to pattin', some to dancin' ; Noah called de figgers— An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers ! Now, sence dat time — it's mighty strange — dere's not de slightes' showin' Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin'. The %valk is temperamental, as much an indicator of the habits, character, and emotions as is the voice. — Genevieve Stebbins. 24 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. ■V THE GOVERNMENT SPY W. -W. Story. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. HPAKE a cigar — draw up your chair, A There's at least a good half-hour to spare. And now, as that friend of yours has gone, There's a word I must whisper to you, alone. That fellow's only a Government Spy ! Of course you're surprised — there's nothing on earth So base in your eyes as a Government Spy ; But listen. I'll spin a yarn for you, And every thread of it's simply true. 'Tis years ago I knew Giannone, A capital fellow with great black eyes, And a pleasant smile of frank surprise^ And as gentle a pace as a lady's pony. Giannone had but an empty head — But then the worst of him is said : A better heart, or a readier hand, You never would see in our English land. Well, it happened that Hycombe Wycombe Brown, Of the Sussex Wycombes, a man about town, Was owing Giannone a kind of debt For buying some horses, or some such work. He sent him a card of defiance one day. To meet him at point of the knife — and fork, And settle the matter without delay. Giannone accepted, of course, and then, He invited a few of us resident men ; Nature, by a thousand irrefutable examples, prescribes a decrease of inten- sity {in music decrescendo) proportionate to the ascensional force of the sounds. — Delsarte. * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 25 And among them, sliA and sleek and sly, Was your pious friencf with his balking eye. The dinner was good and all were merry, And plenty there was of champagne and sherry ; And the toasts were brisk and the wine was good, And we all took quite as much as we should. Then we went to cards ; but, I'm sorry to say, Brandy was ordered to whet the play ; And Giannone drank till his tongue lost its rein, And the fire had all gone into his brain. And names he called, and his voice was high As he talked of Italian liberty ! And cursed the priests as the root of all evil, And sent the cardinals all to the devil. " Better dig with the bayonet's point our graves, And die to be freemen, than live to be slaves !" But all the while that Giannone let fly These arrows of his, with a dead-cold eye Your friend sat playing, and now and then Gleamed up with a glance as sharp as a pen That seemed to write down every word, And then looked away as he had not heard ; And whenever he opened his lips, he said Something about the game, — "You've played A heart to my club ; we're one to six ; Yours are the honors and ours the tricks." I watched him well, and at last said I To myself, " The rascal must be a spy." So " Zitto ! Zitto ! don't be so rash, The soul in its highest moods translates itself by poising its agents. Poise the soul, and the whole muscular system is in action to poise the body. — Moses True Brown. 26 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Giannone," I cried ; " who knows what ear May be listening at the door to hear ?" And then with a laugh, and looking straight At this friend of yours, with his face sedate, I added, "Who knows but there may be A spy even here in this company ?" If I doubted before the trade of your friend, My doubts in a moment had their end ; For a glance came straight up into my eyes From under his lids, half fear, half surprise. Then turning back with a look demure, And a deprecating, pious air, As much as to say, " We must not care, Knowing the means are justified By the noble end," — he slowly said, Speaking, of course, about the game, "The trick is mine — 'twas the knave I played." No sooner the dread word "spy" I spoke, Than Giannone's discourse like a pipe-stem broke ; " Ah !" he cried, " there's a dirty trick In the very word that makes me sick ; You English don't know as well as I The slobber and slime of a Government Spy. " Ser Serpente, permit me now To introduce him— a friend of mine — Smooth, pale, bloodless lips and brow — A long black coat, whose rubbed seams shine — Spots on his waistcoat of grease and wine — * The thumb is the thermometer of life in its extending progression, as it is of death in its contracting- progression. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 27 A tri-cornered hat all rusty with use — Long, black, coarse stockings and buckled shoes ; Ah ! so polite with his bows and smiles, And his sickening compliments and wiles, He dares not look you straight in the eyes, But, sidling and simpering, askance alway, He oils you over with wheedling lies, As the boa slimes ere he swallows his prey. Many a fellow owes him his death Just for a strong word, spoken may be When the blood was hot and the tongue too free. But one morning they found him taking his rest In the street, with a dagger stuck in his breast. And served him right, say you and I, It was only too easy a death for a spy." At this your friend threw down his card, Saying, "You've won to-night, 'tis true, But to-morrow I'll have my revenge on you." And though these words to his friend he spoke, He looked at Giannone so sharp and hard, With such a sinister, evil look, That a dark suspicion in me awoke. Two days after I went to see Whether Giannone would walk with me. Two sharp bell-pulls at his door ; No answer — gone out ; then one pull more. Then slipped a slide back cautiously From a little grated hole—" Chi e ?" "And where is the Signor Padrone?" I cried. In all the normal attitudes of the legs, the weight is borne equally on both. -Genevieve Stebbins. 28 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. " Ah !" with a sort of convulsive groan, The poor old servant, sighing, replied, " Doesn't your Signoria know — The sbirri came here yesterday, And carried the caro padrone away ; And they've rifled his desk of letters and all, And taken the pistols and swords from the wall, And locked up the room with a great red seal Put over the door ; and they scared me so With threats, if I dared in the chamber to go, That I'm all of a tremble from head to heel ; And oh, I fear, Signore dear, There's some dreadful political business here." The servant's story was all too true ; From that night I never saw him again. Worse, neither I nor his family knew, And Giannone himself is as ignorant too — What was his crime — what done — what said, That drew this punishment down on his head. This one fact alone we know, That since the speech of that famous night Giannone has vanished out of sight, And has gone to pass a year or more, In a building where the Government pay His lodging and board in the kindest way. I cannot help wishing the end would come Of this public hospitality, And that poor Giannone was free to go home. But when will that be ? you ask me — Ah ! That is the question ; chi lo sa ? Next month — next year — next century ! The spirit of God is inherent in all things: and this spirit should, at a given moment, flash its splendors in the eyes of an intellect alike submissive, attentive, patient, and suppliant. — Delsarte. , $ DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 29 WHAT AILED THE PUDDING. Josephine Pollard. " \K ^HAT shall we have for dinner, to-day ?" Said Mrs. Dobbs, in her pleasant way; " For Sally has much to do, and would wish That we'd get along with an easy dish — Something that wouldn't take long to prepare, Or really require much extra care." Said Mrs. Dobbs: " There isn't a doubt But what we'd all fancy a stirabout !" " A hasty pudding ! Hurrah ! that's nice !" Exclaimed the girls and boys in a trice. Then Sally put on the biggest pot, And soon the water was boiling hot, And Mrs. Dobbs mixed together some flour And water, and in less than half an hour The pudding began to bubble up thick And dance about with the pudding-stick. Said Mr. Dobbs, as he made a halt : " Our Sally is apt to forget the salt, So I'll put in a pinch ere I leave the house." And he went on tip-toe, as still as a mouse, And, dropping a handful in very quick, Stirred it well about with the pudding-stick, And said to himself : " Now, isn't this clever !" At which the pudding laughed louder than ever. Then Mrs. Dobbs came after a while, And looked in the pot with a cheery smile, Man can only judge 0/ what is by what he can experience, and by the use he is enabled to make 0/ 'that experience, throtigh the action of the faculties. — Mrs. Frank Stuart Parker. 30 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. And thought how much she'd enjoy the treat, And how much the children would want to eat; Then said: " Our Sally has one great fault — She is very apt to forget the salt !" And into the hasty pudding was sent A handful of this ingredient. John, George, and Jennie, and Bess, in turn, Gave the stick a twist, lest the pudding burn ; For oh! how empty and wretched they'd feel If anything ruined their noonday meal ! And each in turn began to reflect, And make amends for Sally's neglect, For the girl was good, but she had one fault — She was very apt to forget the salt ! But Sally herself, it is strange to say, Was not remiss in her usual way ; But before she went to her up-stairs work She threw in a handful of salt with a jerk, And stirred the pudding, and stirred the fire, Which made the bubbles leap higher and higher. And as soon as the clock struck twelve she took The great big pot off the great big hook. It wasn't scorched ! Ah ! that was nice ! And one little dish w T ould not suffice Mr. or Mrs. Dobbs, I guess, John, or George, or Jennie, or Bess ; And as for Sally, I couldn't say How much of the pudding she'd stow away, For she was tired and hungry, no doubt, And very fond of this stirabout. Vulgar and uncultured people, as well as children, seem to act in regard to an ascensional vocal progression in an inverse sense to ivell-educated, or, at any rate, affectionate persons, such as mothers and fond nurses. — Delsarte. * , * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 31 A happier group you'd ne'er be able To find than sat at the Dobbses' table, With plates and spoons and a hungry wish To eat their fill of the central dish. But as Mr. Dobbs began to taste The pudding, he dropped his spoon in haste; And of all the children did likewise, — As big as saucers their staring eyes. Said Mrs. Dobbs, in a voice not sweet : " Why, it isn't fit for the pigs to eat !" And I doubt if an artist would e'er be able To depict their looks as they left the table. Said Sally: " I thought it would be so nice! But I must have salted that pudding twice !" And none of the family mentioned that they Had a hand in boiling the dinner that day. LOST. "*HE chill November day was done, The dry old leaves were flying; When, mingled with the roaring wind, I heard a small voice crying. And shivering at the corner stood A child of four or over; No cloak nor hat her small, soft arms And wind-blown curls to cover. With one wee hand she pushed them back, She slipped in mine the other; Pantomimic expression, like every other expression of man, is a manifesta- tion of the activity of the being, soul, ego, or animating principle, by the activity of the body.- Frank Stuart Parker. 32 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Half scared, half trustingly, she said, " Oh, please, I want my mother !" " Tell me your street and number, pet; Don't cry, I'll take you to it." Sobbing, she answered: "I forget; The organ made me do it. " He came and played at Miller's steps, The monkey took the money; And so I followed down the street, That monkey was so funny. I've walked about a hundred hours, From one street to another; The monkey's gone, I've lost my flowers — Oh, please, I want my mother !" The sky grew stormy; people passed, All muffled, homeward faring; "You'll have to spend the night with me," I said, at last, despairing. I tied her kerchief round her neck — " What ribbon's this, my blossom ?" " Why, don't you know?" she smiling asked, And drew it from her bosom. A card with number, street, and name: My eyes, astonished, met it; " For," said the little one, " you see I might-sometimes forget it. And so I wear a little thing That tells you all about it; For mother says she's very sure I would get lost without it." When the head moves in an inverse direction from the object that it exam- ines^ it is from a selfish standpoint ; and when the examiner bends toward the object, it is in contempt of self that the object is viewed. — Delsakte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 33 THE MINUET. Mary Mapes Dodge. C^ RANDMA told me all about it, ^* Told me so I couldn't doubt it, How she danced — my grandma danced — long ago ; How she held her pretty head — How her dainty skirt she spread — How she turned her little toes — Smiling little human rose — long ago. Grandma's hair was bright and sunny ; Dimpled cheeks, too — ah, how funny ! Really quite a pretty girl — long ago ! Bless her ! why she wears a cap, Grandma does, and takes a nap Every single day ; and yet Grandma danced the minuet — long ago. Now she sits there, rocking, rocking, Always knitting grandpa's stocking (Every girl was taught to knit — long ago) ; Yet her figure is so neat, And her way so staid and sweet, I can almost see her now Bending to her partner's bow — long ago. Grandma says our modern jumping, Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping, Would have shocked the gentle folk — long ago. No ; they moved with stately grace, Everything in proper place ; If we desire that a thing be always remembered, we must not say it in words; we must let it be divined, revealed by gesture. Wherever there is an ellipse in a discourse, gesture must intervene to explain this ellipse. — Delau- mosne. 34 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. J. N. HUMMEL. ^^ ^ ^^ ^ And thinkest forever its joys to possess! The cries of the wretched importune, Thy heart is close shut to their tales of distress. CHORUS. Rich, heedless one, go; for thy heart is of stone; Sweet charity's promptings thou never hast known. But pause and reflect — all on earth fades away, Eternity comes; oh, think well whilst thou may. When gayly thou'rt dancing, look yonder; For stealing away in the lamps' brilliant light A man old and ragged — oh, ponder, — Is starving and cold, a most pitiful sight! That child o'er his mother's grave bending, And off'ringall shiv'ring his thin hands for alms, At dawn will to heaven be ascending, Thy fingers drop naught in his cold, trembling palms. Art is not, as is said, an imitation of nature. It elevates in idealizing her y it is the synthetic rapport of the scattered beauties of nature to a superior and definite type. — Delsarte. * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 71 Like him from great Nature proceeding All naked, in spite of thy poor, foolish pride; The tomb, toward which all life is leading, Will gather thy dust to his now despised side. The shade, that exquisite portion of art which is rather felt than expressed, is the characteristic sign of the perfection of talent; it for?ns apart of the personality of the artist. — Arnaud. * * 72 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. ABSOLUTION. E. Nesbit. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. PHREE months had passed since she had knelt be- fore The grate of the confessional, and he, The priest, had wondered why she came no more To tell her sinless sins — the vanity Whose valid reason graced her simple dress, The prayers forgotten, or the untold beads — The little thoughtless words, the slight misdeeds, Which made the sum of her unrighteousness. She was the fairest maiden in his fold, With her sweet mouth and musical pure voice, Her deep gray eyes, her hair's tempestuous gold, Her gracious, graceful figure's perfect poise. Her happy laugh, her wild, unconscious grace, Her gentle ways to old, or sick, or sad, The comprehending sympathy she had, Had made of her the idol of the place. And when she grew so silent and so sad, So thin and quiet, pale and hollow-eyed, And cared no more to laugh and to be glad With other maidens by the waterside, All wondered; kindly grieved the elders were, And some few girls went whispering about, "She loves — who is it? Let us find it out I" But never dared to speak of it to her. Science elevates man by subjecting to him the things of this ivorld. Art su- pernaturalizes those things by identifying him -with them. — Delsarte. DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 73 But the priest's duty bade him seek her out And say, " My child, why dost thou sit apart ? Hast thou some grief? Hast thou some secret doubt? Come and unfold to me thine inmost heart. God's absolution can assuage all grief And all remorse and woe beneath the sun. Whatever thou hast said, or thought, or done, The holy church can give thy soul relief." He stood beside her, young and strong, and swayed With pity for the sorrow in her eyes, Which, as she raised them to his own, conveyed Into his soul a sort of sad surprise. She answered, "I will come ;" and so at last Out of the summer evening's crimson glow, With heart reluctant and with footsteps slow, Into the cool, great, empty church she passed. " By my own fault, my own most grievous fault, I cannot say, for it is not," she said, Kneeling within the gray stone chapel's vault, And on the ledge her golden hair was spread. " Love broke upon me in a dream ; it came Without beginning, for to me it seemed That never otherwise than as I dreamed Through all my life this thing had been the same. " I only knew my heart, entire, complete, Was given to my other self, my love ; That I through all the world would gladly move So I might follow his adored feet. I dreamed I had all earth, all time, all space, Almost all sinuousness depends on the easy control of the muscles at the waist. — Genevieve Stebbins. 74 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. And every blessing, human and divine ; But hated the possessions that were mine, And only cared for his beloved face. " I never knew I loved him till that dream Drew from my eyes the veil, and left me wise. What I had thought was reverence grew to seem Only my lifelong love in thin disguise. And in my dream it looked so sinless, too, So beautiful, harmonious, and right ; The vision faded with the morning light, The love will last aslong as I shall do." u Child, have you prayed against it ?" " Have I prayed ? Have I not clogged my very soul with prayer ; Stopped up my ears with sound of praying ; made My very body faint with kneeling there Before the sculptured Christ, and all for this, That when my lips can pray no more, and sleep Shuts my unwilling eyes, my love will leap To dreamland's bounds, to meet me with his kiss ! " Avoid him ? Ay, in dewy garden walk How often have I strayed, avoiding him, And heard his voice mix with the common talk, Yet never turned his way. My eyes grow dim With weeping over what I lose by day And find by night, yet never have to call My own. O God ! is there no help at all — No hope, no chance, and no escapeful way?" " And who is he to whom thy love is given ?" " What? Holy church demands to know his name ? It is by ))ieans of art that the artist transforms a?zd animates inorganic bodies, in stamping upon them the cha?'acter of -his life, his soul, and his mind. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 75 No rest for me on earth, no hope of heaven Unless I tell it ? Ah, for very shame I cannot — yet why not ? — I will — I can ! I have grown mad with brooding on my curse. Here ! Take the name ; no better and no worse My case will be. Father, thou art the man !" An icy shock shivered through all his frame — An overwhelming, cold astonishment ; But on the instant the revulsion came, His blood felt what her revelation meant. " Lord Christ," his soul cried, while his heart beat fast, " Give strength in this, my hour of utmost need ;" And with the prayer strength came to him indeed, And with calm voice he answered her at last: " Child, go in peace ! Wrestle and watch and pray, And I will spend this night in prayer for thee, That God will take thy strange great grief away. Thou hast confessed thy sin. Absolvo te." Silence most absolute a little while, Then passed the whisper of her trailing gown Over the knee-worn stones, and soft died down The dim, deserted, incense-memoried aisle. All night he lay upon the chancel floor, And coined his heart in tears and prayers, and new, Strange longings he had never known before, Her very memory so thrilled him through. He lay so tempest-tossed, 'twas still without, And moaned: " Oh, God! I love her, love her so! Oh, for one spark of heaven's fire to show Some way to cast this devil's passion out ! // is no longer man as type of a class or member of a monarchy, but man as an independent individual, whose art is in process of conception. — Franklin H. Sargent. * 76 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. " Christ, by Thy passion, by Thy death for men, Oh, save me from myself, save her from me !" And at the word the moon came out again From her cloud-palace, and threw suddenly A shadow from the great cross overhead Upon the priest ; and with it came a sense Of strength renewed, of perfect confidence In Him who on that cross for men hung dead. But as the ghostly moon began to fade, And moonlight glimmered into ghostlier dawn, The shadow that the crucifix had made With twilight mixed ; and with it seemed withdrawn The peace that with its shadowy shape began, And as the dim east brightened, slowly ceased The wild devotion that had filled the priest — And with full sunlight he sprang up — a man ! He strode straight down the church and passed along The grave-set garden's dewy grass-grown slope ; The woods about were musical with song, The world was bright with youth, and love, and hope. Soon would he see her — cry, "I am thine own, As thou art mine, now, and forevermore !" And at her worshipped feet would kneel before, And she should kiss the lips that had not known The kiss of love in any vanished year. And as he dreamed of his secured delight, A mourning band, and in their midst a bier, Round the curved road came slowly into sight. Fie hastened to pass on ; a covering-fold Veiled the dead, quiet face — and yet — and yet — con One of two things is necessary in art: either that the divine work to be templated shall be abased to the level of man; or that he elevate himself to its height. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. yy Did he not know that hand, so white and wet? Did he not know those dripping curls of gold ? " We came to you to know what we should do, Father : we found her body in the stream, And how it happed, God knows !" One other knew — Knew that of him had been her last wild dream — Knew the full reason of that life-disdain — Knew how the shame of hopeless love confessed And unreturned had seemed to stain her breast, Till only death should make her clean again. They left her in the church where sunbeams bright Gilded the wreathed oak and carven stone With golden floods of consecrating light ; And here at last, together and alone, The lovers met, and here upon her hair He set his lips, and, dry-eyed, kissed her face, And in the stillness of the holy place He spoke in tones of bitter, blank despair : " Oh, lips so quiet, eyes that will not see ! Oh, clinging hands that not again will cling ! This last poor sin may well be pardoned thee, Since for the right's sake thou hast done this thing. Oh, poor weak heart, forever laid to rest, That could no longer strive against its fate, For thee high heaven will unbar its gate, And thou shalt enter in and shalt be blessed. "The chances were the same for us," he said, "Yet thou hast won, and I have lost, the whole ; Thou would'st not live in sin, and thou art dead — * 4 When the betng contemplates, or is filled with the majesty and poiver of a great cause, as a love of liberty, or of loyalty to conscience and duty, or of obedience to God, all the agents of expression stand in poise or equilibrium. — Mosrs True Brown. 78 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. But I — against thee I have weighed my soul, And, losing thee, have lost my soul as well. I have cursed God, and trampled on His cross ; Earth has no measurement for all my loss, But I shall learn to measure it in hell !" LADIES OF ATHENS. Mrs. M. A. Lipscomb. Scene. — Home of Xanthippe, zvife of Socrates. CHARACTERS. Xanthippe Wife of Socrates. Aspasia Wife of Pericles. Sappho , Poetess. Philesia Wife of Xenophon. Pythias Wife of Aristotle. Cleobula Sister of Demosthenes. Damophila Wife of Damophilus and rival of Sappho. Nicostrata , Wife of Sophocles. COSTUMES. [The costumes are all Greek, with variations of draping and color. Xanthippe's dress should be slightly shabby. Statuary against a crim- son curtain forms the background of the scene. Young ladies and children draped and mounted on pedestals, singly or in groups, for the statues.] V ANTHIPPE. Life is an absolute burden, and I am wearied with it. Here I am shut up within these four walls, robbed of the luxuries that my friends en- joy, with barely enough comforts to keep body and soul together, while Socrates, my husband, shiftless wretch that he is, wanders about the streets of Athens prating of justice and injustice, truth and falsehood, poverty and wealth, and so long as he can find listeners to his wild philosophies he cares not how fares it with me at The artist should first know what he ought to seek in the stcbject ; and, sec- I ondly, know where to find what he seeks. He must have, in the first place, the faithful signal of the sought- for thing; in the second place, the means of j surely finding it. — Delsarte. I *— — — — " — — ~ »fr DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 79 home. For months I haven't had a single drachma of his earnings; and for a whole year one mina is all that he has given to our support, and that was not the fruit of his own labor, but sent him by a generous friend! And yet we must be fed. " Not live to eat," he would say, but " eat to live." To-day he will come home and expect to find the pot boiling and enjoy his savory soup and well-cooked barley bread; and if I perchance utter a single word of complaint, I am called a scold, a terma- gant, and told that Socrates married Xanthippe in order that she might discipline his temper! Oh, if I could only make him angry for once, how happy, how su- premely happy I should be! [Enter Aspasia.] Xan. Why, good-morrow! you are most welcome. How fares it with you and your lord to-day, and where- fore this pleasure you have bestowed on me? Aspasia. I have come to praise your husband. Know you not that while you sit quietly here at home, Athens is fairly wild about him ? As I passed by the market- place I beheld a vast concourse of people. Men were fairly pushing each other aside in their eagerness to hear. I asked what had brought the people together, and was told more than once that it was to listen to Socrates's teachings. As for Pericles, my husband, I but rarely see him now. Once I could interest him on the subject of oratory, and we often read and studied to- gether; but now he thinks there is no wisdom except what proceeds from the mind of Socrates. Xan. Oh, Aspasia, it frets me to hear of this. If Pericles would only teach Socrates that women and True passion, which never errs, has no need of recurring to the study of\ what function nature has assigned to the eye, the nose, the mouth, in the ex- \ pression of certain emotions of the soul; but they are indispensable to the feigned passion of the actor. — A. Gueroult. Y— — ■ ^^-.■„_^.. - . . .- -■■ J ..~^ * 80 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. children cannot dine or sup off philosophy, he would prove himself a benefactor as well as a teacher. Asp. But, Xanthippe, are you not proud of his fame ? Plato fairly worships him. He likens him to the masks of Silenus which may be seen sitting in the statuaries and shops, having pipes and flutes in their mouths; but they are made to open, and inside of them are images of gods. Xan. Aspasia, no; I am not proud of a husband who goes about the market-place in one garment, barefooted and bareheaded; who teaches that self-denial is the sublimest virtue, and that poverty is the greatest bless- ing. If you would be happy, keep Pericles away from him. Asp. Plato thinks him a more wonderful flute-player than Marsyas; for Socrates, he says, moves the souls of men simply with his voice without the aid of instru- ment, and he swears that he could grow old sitting at your husband's feet. He says, too, that Socrates is the only man that he ever envied, and who has ever made him ashamed of himself. Xan. Plato knows not whereof he speaks. Would to Zeus he were a woman and had married Socrates! But here comes Sappho. \Enter Sappho.] Welcome, sweet poetess! Violets crown Sappho! Your presence always gladdens my heart and brings sunshine to my home. Asp. Good-morrow, friend; I find Xanthippe in too practical a mood to-day to enjoy hearing her husband praised. She thinks she would love him better if he had a little less wisdom and philosophy and a little more fish and fowl for dinner. Sappho. Fie, Xanthippe! Would you have your Asa knowledge of the parts of speech is not enough to make a -writer, so ex- ercises practiced mechanically with a view to the 7iianageme7it of sound can never produce artists,— Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 8 1 husband a fishmonger, a butcher, or a baker? He who feeds the body is no more than these. He who feeds the mind is best worthy of our thanks. Your husband is something above the common herd. " He walks in air and contemplates the sun." Xan. Sweet, smiling Sappho, that will not do for a man of earth. High-soaring thoughts and words of wisdom will never be taken in exchange for bakers' and butchers' bills. Sappho, never marry a philosopher. Sap. Xanthippe, you do not value your husband as you should. Philosophers are kings, and should have crowns and be enthroned. The only hope that we have for our state is to encourage learning and crush out ignorance. Let Socrates teach the people, for wisdom hangs upon his lips, the light of knowledge is in his eye, and he alone is able to draw all men after him. Asp. Well spoken, pure Sappho, for none can be compared to the noble Socrates. He has learned the greatest, the hardest lesson of life — how to rule him- self. Had he given to Athenian youths but one precept, that of " Know thyself," he would be as immortal as the gods themselves. Xan. Will you ladies dine with me ? Perhaps you will change your views to-morrow. But pardon, I see yonder Damophila and Nicostrata. [Enter Damophila tfT^NicosTRATA.] Welcome, fair ladies; Xanthippe can offer but small cheer to her friends, but always a most gracious welcome. You know these friends? [introduces t/iem~] Aspasia, the wife of our noble Pericles, and Sappho, our violet-crowned poetess. [Damophila sees Sappho and shows evident signs of jeal- ousy .] The body is but the manifestation of the soul. It is the form under which the soul projects itself as it were, into space and time, the medium through which it communicates with the material world and with other souls like it- self— T. M. Baixirt. V _______ — _ 4 82 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Damophila. Our visit to-day was to Xanthippe, wife of the illustrious Socrates. Damophilus, my husband, bade me tell you that his, nay, all philosophy, is but vain when compared to what is taught by the noble Socrates. Nicostrata. Xanthippe, how blessed you are in being the wife of such a man. I would give half my life to enjoy the honor that is yours to-day. Dam. You do give voice to my own thoughts, Nico- strata. Damophilus and Sophocles say they feel they are but babes in knowledge when they contemplate all that your husband has accomplished; and as for myself, I am filled with contempt for my own weak verses and think them but the product of inanity. Sap. [aside with sarcasm]. True sentences and well pronounced. Dam. Madam, your opinion was not asked. Vouch- safe to give it when it is wanted. It ill becomes one who writes no better than a rhymester to speak in criti- cising terms of others. Sap. I but re-echoed your own sentiments. You gave birth to the thought, not I. Dam. Madam, you were only too glad of an oppor- tunity to insult me; and were it not for the respect I hold for Xanthippe, our hostess, with a woman's weapon I would lash you until you were sorry that you had spoken. Nic. Sweet ladies, I beg, I entreat that you do curb these wild passions. Xanthippe will be sorry that we have come if we make her house a scene of loud talking and jealous brawl. Dam. I had forgot. Pardon me, Xanthippe; passion * Art is divine in its principles, divine in its essence, divine in its action, divine in its end. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 83 is like a stagnant pool — only stir it up and it gives forth odors vile and dank. Nicostrata and I came hither to-day expecting to find no one but yourself (the gentle Aspasia is always welcome). We have come to praise your husband and hear him praised. We have brought with us, too, the wonderful riddle of the Sphinx that is now puzzling the minds of all wise Athenians. Xan. Tell it me, for Socrates tells me nothing. He says that husbands should instruct their wives in all they wish them to know; he gives me no instruction, and, therefore, he washes me to know nothing. Nic. Sophodes, my husband, bade me give the rid- dle to you, Xanthippe, and ask that Socrates would find the answer. He has made King CEdipus, in his wonder- ful tragedy, give an answer both proper and true; but he wishes to have Socrates find a solution, which Soph- ocles knows will be fraught with cleverness and wisdom. Dam. Nicostrata, Socrates has said that the talent of women is quite equal to that of men; that there is no inequality except the inequality of strength. Suppose, then, you give the riddle to us; and should any of us solve it, you can take our answer back to Sophocles, so that he may know that Socrates is right when he says that the " ladies of Athens have brain as well as beauty." Nic. Well, as you will; it may serve for entertain- ment to Xanthippe and her friends. Listen: " There lives upon the earth a being, two-footed; yea, and with four feet; yea, and with three feet, too, yet his voice continues unchanging. And lo! of all things that move in earth, in heaven, or in ocean, he only changes his nature, and yet when on most feet he walketh, then is Gesture is the direct agent of the heart, the interpreter of speech. It is el- liptical discourse. — Delaumosne. 84 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. the speed of his limbs most weak and utterly power- less." [A// assume a thoughtful attitude; finally Aspasia speaks?^ Asp. I never solved a riddle in all my life; they make my head ache. Sap. Methinks this wonderful creature must be our neighbor dog, for he once walked upon four feet, now walks upon three, and daytime and night-time his voice is ever unchanging. Xan. Well answered, Sappho; you must be sleepless o' nights, and doubtless think the bark of a dog more terrific than his bite. Sap. In truth I do. Xanthippe, that dog has well nigh crushed all the poetry out of my nature, and made me half wish that I had been born deaf. Nic. Come, ladies, the riddle is yet unsolved. " There lives upon the earth a being, two-footed; yea, and with four feet; yea, and with three feet, too, yet his voice continues unchanging. And lo! of all things that move in earth, in heaven, or in ocean, he only changes his nature, and yet when on most feet he walketh, then is the speed of his limbs most weak and utterly power- less." Dam. I have it: Man it is thou hast described, who, when on earth he appeareth, first as a babe on hands and knees, four-footed, creeps on his way; then when old age cometh on and the burden of years weighs full heavy, bending his shoulders and neck, as a third foot uses his staff. [All clap hands and cry " Bravo ! bravo /" except Sappho.] Sap. Her answer is a man, of course. Gesture is parallel to the impression received; it is therefore always an- terior to speech, which is but a reflected and subordinate expression.— Del- SARTE. DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 85 Nic. Damophila, you have solved the Sphinx's rid- dle. When I take your answer home, Socrates will be compelled to own that the wife of one of Athens' wisest philosophers is wiser than her husband. Know you not, ladies, that yesterday at a symposium at our house Sophocles gave the Sphinx riddle to a party of friends, and not one of them could divine a meaning in it? Dam. Had the answer been a woman they had not been so dull. But, Xanthippe, when your husband re- turns give it him. His thoughts travel beyond other men's thoughts, and he may find a deeper meaning than I have given to the riddle. Xan. Here comes Philesia. She too, perhaps, comes to tell me of some new trick of my husband whereby he may catch the people. \Enter Philesia.] Good-morrow, Philesia. Philesia. Good-morrow, ladies all. You wonder, Xanthippe, what has brought me hither at this hour of the day. My dinner is cooked to a crisp, and I am as hungry as a wolf. I was wearied with watching and waiting for my husband, and I wandered out on the street to know wherefore he did not come. As I passed the market-place I beheld a vast concourse of people, and I knew my husband, must be there. I concealed myself as near the people as I dared, where I could see and be unseen, and this is what I saw and what I heard. Socrates, your husband, bareheaded, barefooted, was mounted on a rude platform in earnest discourse; the people were so eager to drink in what he said, that they did not note anything that was passing in the street. I saw Xenophon seated at the feet of Socrates, busily writing all that he said. I was afraid to linger, but I — — * The essential point is to get back to the truth, to express the passio?is and emotions as nature manifests them, and not to repeat mechanically a series of conventional proceedings which are violations of the natural law. — Arnaud. 4, 86 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. heard Socrates say: " We have two ears and one mouth, that we may hear much and talk little." Xan. Oh, would that he practiced all of his precepts! Philesia, if Xenophon would only encourage Socrates to go back to his trade and give up preaching and teach- ing, he should have Xanthippe's heart's best blessing. Phil. But, Xanthippe, your husband's talent lies not in sculpture. He was born a philosopher; and would you cheat the age of his golden thoughts for the few paltry drachmas that he might earn by following his trade ? Xan. Philesia, golden thoughts do not satisfy hunger. Sap. Come, come, Xanthippe, you should be proud to feed the philosopher who feeds the world. Xan. A man's home should be his world. He who provides not for his own household is worse than an infidel. Asp. Tut, tut, Xanthippe; it grieves me to hear you talk thus. Come and dine with us to-morrow and hear your husband praised. These ladies, too, I hope will honor me. Plato, Pericles, and Xenophon shall all be there; and when you shall have heard them extol your husband's virtues, you will feel proud to be called wife by the foremost man in all Greece. Will you come ? Xan. I cannot; it shames me to say that I have no gown other than the one I wear. Asp. Then Socrates will honor us by his presence ? Xan. He shall not; his clothing is no better than a beggar's. [Enter Pythias, wife of Aristotle?^ Xan. Why, here comes Pythias ! She, too, has brought me tidings of my crazy husband. The artist should have three objects: To move, to interest, to persuade. He interests by language ; he moves by thought; he moves \ interests, and persuades by gesture. — Delsarte. DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 87 Pythias. Not crazy, Xanthippe, but absolutely un- like any other human being that is or ever has been. You may imagine Brasidas to have been like Achilles, but to your strange husband you will never be able to find any likeness, however remote, either among men who now are or who have ever been. I heard my hus- band, Aristotle, say of him, and he is no mean philos- opher himself, that the words of Socrates seem ridicu- lous when you first hear them, for he clothes himself in language that is as the wanton satyr. He talks of smiths, cobblers, and curriers, and he is always repeat- ing the same things in the same words, so that an igno- rant man who did not know him might be disposed to laugh at him. Xan. Pythias, Socrates is crazy; and when you go home, tell Aristotle that Xanthippe, his wife, says she w T ishes he would blister Socrates' head ! Py. Fie, fie, Xanthippe ! how wrong you are. You are out of patience with your husband, and, like the garbling multitude, see only the outer man, Plato says he who pierces the mask and sees what lies within will find that Socrates' words are the only ones which have any meaning in them; that his wisdom is di- vine. Xan. O, Pythias ! if Socrates would think less and work more I should like him far better as a husband. Do you ladies know that he has not been home since yester morn at breakfast ? I am told that he stood all night on the market-place thinking over some problem concerning the life of the soul after the death of the body; and to-day he is still standing there prating his wild theories to a crowd of listening fools. You cannot in an instant prepare the human body for the translation* through that grand interpreter, art, of the best possibilities of the soul. There is too much imperfection in our nature. — Genevieve Stebbins. * 88 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. \Enter Cleobula, the sister of Demosthenes, bearing a beau- tiful basket of fruity Cleobula. Good-morrow, Xanthippe. Demosthenes* my brother, has just returned from the market-place, where he has stood all night watching your husband, deep in thought, waiting to hear him speak. He says that the streets were filled with people all night long; that they brought their mats and rugs and spread them upon the ground, and that not an eye was closed or an ear deaf during the whole night. Socrates stood silent, deep in thought. To-day light seems to have come to him, and he has been talking for hours. He has told such a beautiful story about a life beyond the grave; of this spirit, this soul that is within us, that shall never die. Demosthenes says that Athens has gone mad over Socrates; that his doctrines are so new, so beautiful, so comforting, that if he but command the people, they would fall down and worship him as a god. Xan. Tell Demosthenes Xanthippe says, make Soc- rates go to work. This is the message from his starving wife. Cle. I dare not go home with such a message. See here, he has sent this basket of fruit. When he gave it me he said: " Take you this to Xanthippe; hasten, sister mine, to bear my gratulations to the wisest man in all of Greece. ,, Will you have it? Xan. Cleobula, I do not take it because I am proud of being the wife of Socrates, but because I am starving and crave the food. Tell him that Demosthenes is a greater benefactor than Socrates, for he feeds the wife whom Socrates would starve in order that Socrates might feed the world. Form is the garb of substance. It is the expressive symbdi of a mysterious truth. It is the trademark of a hidden virtue. It is the actuality of the be- ing. In a word, form is the plastic art of the ideal. — Dels arte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 89 Cle. It will not be long, I ween, before your hus- band will return. The crowd had nearly all dispersed as I passed the market-place. I had one glimpse of Socrates, and he looked worn and famished. He will need refreshment when he returns, and will, no doubt, enjoy some of the fruit I have brought. Xan. Not a morsel of it shall he have. I will give him broth and barley bread, for that is better than he deserves. Look you, ladies, is not this fruit beautiful and tempting? Methinks if I could only be well fed off cooling fruits like these, I should not have such a hot and hasty temper. \_Socrates is heard calling out, " Xanthippe / Xanthippe ! Xanthippe /"] Xan. Hark, was that not my husband's voice? Asp. His call is weak and faint; answer him, Xan- thippe. A good wife regardeth the call of her husband. \_So crates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe f" Sap. Xanthippe, I pray you heed your husband's call. Phil. Were it my husband, I should hasten to meet him. [Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe /" Py. I have no husband; but methinks that if I did have one, I should run to meet him before he had occa- sion to call. [Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xa?ithippe ! Xanthippe /"] Asp. Woman, I pray you go to your husband. Sap. You are unworthy of such a husband, and the gods should curse you for it. Xan. Sappho, she who comes between husband and wife treads upon a dangerous sea. I know my duty. 4 * The followers of art should be able, before and above all, to portray human- ity in its essential truth, and according to the original tendency of each type. Mannerism and affectation should forever be proscribed — unless they are imi- tated as an exercise, — Arnaud. 90 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Phil. I pray you do it, then. [Socrates calls, "Xanthippe! Xanthippe! Xanthippe!"] Py. By all that is holy, I pray you answer your husband. Cle. Go get him food and drink. [Socrates calls, "Xanthippe! Xanthippe! Xanthippe /"] Dam. Xanthippe, if you are human, go to your hus- band. Were he a dog and did bark in a piteous way, I should give him food and drink. You are no more than an ingrate to scorn a man whom all Athens is ready to fall down and worship as a god. Were I Socrates, I should never call you wife, for you are a libel on such a sacred name. Woman, go to your husband. Xan. Who commands Xanthippe? Damophila, you are a guest beneath my roof, or else that speech had been your last. Dam. Pardon me again, Xanthippe. I, like you, have too hot and hasty a temper. I should have entreated, not commanded. Socrates is your husband; you are bound to him by ties the strongest and holiest; he is weary and sick, and needs your service; I pray you go to him. [Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe /"] Nic. Xanthippe, all men are human. Socrates is a man, and therefore he is human. I beg you go to him and minister unto him. [Socrates calls, "Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe !"' Xan. Sir, did you call? Socrates [behind the scenes, in a weak voice]. Dearest mine, I am sick and weak; a little soup and barley bread, if you please. Xan. A little soup and barley bread ! I w T ould you h Gesture is the direct agent of the heart. It is the Jit manifestation of feel- ing. It is the revealer of thought, and the commentator upon speech. It is the elliptical expression of speech. It is the justification of the additional meanings of speech. In a word, it is the spirit of which speech is merely the letter. — Dels arte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 91 were not so easily contented. You wretched man of dreams, if you would but turn your thoughts from heaven to earth, your table might be fit for kings. Yes, I'll come. I'll feed you until you are well satisfied and ready to go again to the market-place to spend the night in thinking, thinking, thinking. [ Curtain falls. ] THE DOLL DRILL. Adelaide Norris. T^OR the best effect in this charming drill, the girls ^ should be chosen of different heights, the tallest pair in the centre, and the tiny ones at both ends. Their ages range between 8 and 12 years. They are dressed in black paper cambric dresses, made plain, with full skirts reaching to within three inches of the floor. The white nurse-apron should be at the same distance from the bottom of the dresses, and tie with strings of the same width. White mull kerchiefs around the shoulders, and white caps, complete the costumes. The dolls wear " baby dresses" of muslin, six inches below their feet. I find this a convenient length for handling ; besides, it looks well. They have no captain, and no one counts for them or calls the changes. A very slow march is best. When all have marked time, the signal is given, and they come out in pairs, the tallest leading. The dolls are carried on the left arm, w T ith the right arm placed over them. The eyes of the nurses rest on the dolls until they face the audience. * ; • Conscious mental states are manifested by the play of the countenance, by the tones of the voice, and by gesture. Unconscious mental states, such as fixed forms or types of character, whether of thought, emotion, or will, manifest themselves in physiognomy and the automatic movements of the body. — T. M. Balliet. * 92 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. i. March to centre, turn square corner, step to the front of stage ; line divide in two divisions, march to right and left, turn, march half-way to the back, turn toward centre of stage, meet, march in pairs to the back. Then separate, march along the back to the outer sides of stage, then across the end nearly to the front. 2. March toward each other, but pass by. At the edge turn and march back as if to meet, but pass and turn once more. Then meet, and face the audience without signal. The music, in quadruple time, should be rather slow. My pupils took their signal from the fourth note of the first measure, and were ready for the first full measure. I found the most difficulty in getting the faces expres- sive and keeping the eyes of the nurses on the infants. Movements. Dolls on Arms as in March. I. Present. Clasp dolls with both hands, at the waist ; on i hold at arm's length till 3 ; then bring back to chin. Repeat three times. Bring doll back to position on shoulder on third beat of fourth measure. (Repeat I.) II. Support. Hold dolls at arm's length like a young baby, lying down on the left hand and forearm. On 3 swing back to left hip. Repeat three times. On 3 of fourth measure bring to position at the shoulder. (Re- peat If.) III. Toss. Toss dolls four times, two. beats; rest four beats. Repeat three times. The left hand should sup- port the doll, the right hand in front at the waist. This movement is very pretty if the nurses look animated. (Repeat III.) IV. Affection. Hold dolls at the front, two counts, bring back and kiss, two counts. Repeat, filling four measures. (Repeat IV.) * — Lack of elasticity in a body is disagreeable from the fact that, lacking sup- pleness, it seems as if it must, in falling, be broken, flattened, or injured: in a word, must lose something of the integrality of its form. — Delsakte. * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 93 V. Obedience. Hold doll in left hand at the waist straight out in front ; with the forefinger of the right hand make the gesture to indicate that doll must obey. Make eight movements ; return doll to position ; rest two measures. Faces of nurses expressive. (Repeat V.) VI. Bows. Dolls face audience and bow, four counts for each bow, four times. Position at shoulder, no rest. Nurses' heads tipped to one side as if looking to see the " pretty bows." (Repeat VI.) VII. Charge. Take doll in hands, the right hand over and the left hand under the doll, the feet on the nurse's left hip, the head pointing out a little obliquely like a " bayonet charge." Stamp heavily with left foot, eight counts. Rest in position at shoulder, eight counts. (Repeat VII.) VIII. Compare. Nurses tip heads together, two by two ; place dolls side by side for comparison, with pleased expression. On ninth count, back in position. Rest two measures. (Repeat VIII.) IX. Displeasure. Hold dolls at arm's length, with ex- pression of displeasure, eight counts. Back in position, eight counts. (Repeat IX.) X. Forgiveness. Hold dolls at arm's length, eight counts ; hug during eight counts, with dolls' heads over left shoulder. (Repeat X.) Each movement requires 32 counts to make the music come out right. After a few rehearsals the children associate the movements with the music and need no " calls." After Movement X., the dolls are dropped to the position of Movement II., and swung gently, while the nurses sing one verse of Brahm's " Lullaby," following it with the chorus of the Lullaby, from " Erminie." [The words and music for these are on pages 94, 95.] In this they are joined by an invisible chorus, singing the undertone " bye-bye." On commencing this latter selection, the house is gradually darkened, and the nurses march off, swinging their infants, singing more softly. * // is not iv hat we say that perstiades, but the manner of saying it. The mind can be interested by speech, it must be persuaded by gesture. If the face bears no sign of persuasion, ive do not persuade. — Delaumosne. 94 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. LULLABY. Arranged from Brahms by 0. E. McFadon. 1. Lul- la 2. Lul"- la by by and good-night and good-night With ros - es be- Thy moth - er's de- i £>3=fe ib£=d 4=d=i ba-by's wee bed Lay thee light Bright angels a - round my clar-ling shall stand They will down now and rest, May thy slum-ber be guard thee from harm Thou shalt wake in my 1/ V blest Lay thee arms They will down now and rest, May thy slum - ber be guide thee from harm, Thou shalt wake in my blest, arms, r: $ 3' DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 95 LULLABY. Arranged from ." Erminie" by 0. E. McEadon. Chorus. PP i ■■^--$=r- :tzM=t=3t=t==* «■— Bye bye drowsiness o'ertaking, Pretty little eyelids sleep, *=J= 2*istp^ ipe: 1 f- I Bye bye bye psH bye Bye — paJ — r^- ill bye bye bye ^Xt^X -•- 4- -#- -4- -•- 4- -#- -j tt=m --&--& dim, j — v- pd^=q=r ^^_ - N J- -4 -P-N-FM-^ -j-*— # 1 Bye bye watching till thou 'rt waking Darling he thy slumber deep. ^ — ^ h^ Bye bye bye - -#- ~~P^ -# -~« ill bye Bye bye bye. -5*- -^" "S?- T5»- 3# 1 g6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. THE BELL OF INNISFARE. [There is a legend of the " Bell of Innisfare," that if those who are in sickness and affliction can get some one to go and ring the bell on Christmas Eve, at twelve o'clock, there is a charm in the ringing at that particular hour which will restore all to health and happiness.] ^WAS Christmas Eve, the feast so dear To little ones who wait its cheer; For Christmas Eve, where'er it be, Always brings songs, and joy, and glee. But Christmas Eve with all thy cheer, Thou still art greeted with a tear, Where, in a cold and cheerless room, Filled by the twilight's darkening gloom, A child by fever-bed doth watch, A mother's voice and look to catch; So sad to her, through blinding tears, The joyous Christmas Eve appears. She sees each neighboring house grow bright, Till every window seems alight, And sounds of merriment begin; She hears afar the happy din. Her heart grows sadder still; but list ! Their songs come floating through the mist, Their voices sound so sweet, so clear, That each word she can plainly hear. " In the convent of Innisfare One ruined chapel still is there; It holds a bell with tone so fine, That when you draw the slender line, It works like magic, strange and rare, That little bell of Innisfare. In the vulgar ntan there is no reaction. In the man of distinction, on the contrary, motion is of slight extent, and reaction is enormous. — Delsarte. DELSAKTE RECITATION BOOK. 97 That little bell of Innisfare Will cure your sick, if you but dare On Christmas Eve, at midnight hour, To try its wondrous healing power; We counsel you to hurry there, And ring the bell of Innisfare." The song had softly passed away, When burst from her who suffering lay A sigh so deep, and full of smart, As if it came from breaking heart; And then, with lips and voice so weak, In feeble accents thus did speak: " Ah ! that sweet bell of Innisfare, Oh! if your father had been there, Had he but lived till now, then I Should not in pain and sorrow die ; By sickness here no longer bound. Mary, my child, life would be found, If some good friend could now go there, And ring the bell of Innisfare." Thus far she spake, then sank again, Stopped by the leaden weight of pain. Without, the night grew darker still, And silence reigned o'er vale and hill; But hark! a latch is drawn — nay, more, Some one comes through the creaking door; It is a girl, so small and slight, With plaid around her folded tight, With naked feet and head quite bare, - * The artist, according to his personal power of inspiration, should be able to portray a totality of superior and hartnonious qualities, such as will compel any competent observer to recognize it as beautiful — Akxaud. 98 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Exposed to storm and midnight air; With torch and staff her way to find, She dashes on quick as the wind. She only waited but to say, " May God protect me on my way." Up hill, through vale her pathway lay, Ever with step so swift and light. Oh God ! she's stumbled in her flight! Her lantern's broken on the ground! Its light is quenched, 'tis dark all round. The snow comes thicker, faster still, But she stops not for frost nor chill; To all she gives no heed or care, She thinks alone of Innisfare. Return in time, the ice is thin, It cracks, 'tis almost breaking in! From block to block, still safe from ill, She springs to land, and mounts the hill. The ruined chapel she must find, With pointed tower high in the wind; From the old tower there glances far That little bell, like some fair star. The door is open to her feet; Her work of love is now complete. Now, draw the rope the bell to ring, That to thy mother health will bring. What seek'st thou, child ? why wait'st thou on ? Ring it — oh, woe! the rope is gone! There at her feet, decayed and worn, It lies in fragments, old and torn. , , The soul which stops to contemplate its wings will never rise. — Delsartr. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 99 The staircase, too, that led the way, Has fallen to time and fire a prey. Unhappy child! The cruel wind Seems mocking at thy faith, unkind; In vain thou cam'st through storm and snow, In vain o'er icy lakes didst go, Vain thy despairing, upstretched arm, To ring the bell thou hast no charm. The clock now strikes the midnight hour — If heaven help not, who else has power? She knelt and prayed: " O Saviour, dear, Do Thou Thy sorrowing child now hear: Mv mother told me Thou didst come, Year after year, to each child's home ; When they were bad Thou past didst go, But to the good Thy gifts didst flow. Oh, now remember me, I pray, And I will thank Thee day by day, If health and strength may come again To my poor mother, sick with pain!" And faster even as she speaks, The tears stream down the poor child's cheeks. But ere the twelfth stroke of the clock Had sounded over lake and rock, High in its groove the bell doth move, And swinging wide, from side to side, Peal after peal rings in the air, It rings, the bell of Innisfare! Gesture is the direct agent of the soul, while language is analytic and suc- cessive. — Delaumosne. 100 DELSARTE RECITATION ROOK. 'Twas God that heard that earnest prayer, That faith and love had offered there; And as that bell, with tone so clear, Rang o'er the land, the child could hear, Mixed in its tones, like angels' song, Her mother's voice, soft, float along. Saved ! saved ! it said, with music rare, The little bell of Innisfare. ANNE HATHAWAY /^\NCE on a time, when jewels flashed, ^- > ^ And moonlit fountains softly splashed, And all the air was sweet and bright With music, mirth, and deft delight, A courtly dame d'rew, laughing, near A poet — greatest of his time, And chirped a question in his ear, With voice like silver bells in chime: "Good Mr. Shakespeare, I would know The name thy lady bore, in sooth, Ere thine. Nay, little time ago It was — for we still mark her youth; Some high-born name, I trow, and yet, Altho' I've heard it, I forget." Then answered he, with dignity, Yet blithely — for the hour w r as gay, " My lady's name — Anne Hathaw T ay." "And good, sweet sir," the dame pursued, Too fair and winsome to be rude, DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 101 " 'Tis whispered here and whispered there, By doughty knights and ladies fair, That — that — well, that her royal lord Does e'en obey her lightest will. Now, my good spouse — I pledge my word — Tho' loving well doth heed me ill; How art thou conquered, prithee, tell," She pleaded with her pretty frown; "I fain would know what mighty spell Can bring a haughty husband down." She ceased, and raised her eager face To his, with laughing, plaintive grace. Then answered he, with dignity, Yet blithely — for the hour was gay, "Ah, lady, I can only say Her name again— Anne Hath — a — way." THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER Harriet Beecher Stowe. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. \\ fAL, you see, when Parson Carryl's wife died, my cousin Huldy undertook to keep house for him. She was jest as handsome a gai to look at as a feller could have, and a nice, well-behaved young gal. I've walked ten miles of a Sunday mornin' jest to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat with her. But you know how 'tis in parishes ; there allers is women that thinks the minister's affairs belongs to them. And so Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' Sawin got their heads together a-talkin' about things. 1 Affectation is in the arts the eqicr-aleut of srphistry in logic, of the false in morals, of hypocrisy in religion. — Arnaud. 102 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. " Poor man," says Mis' Pipperidge, "what can that child do toward takin' the care of all that place ! It takes a mature woman to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes." " That it does," says Mis' Blodgett; " and when things once get to runnin' down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 'em," says she. Then Mis' Sawin she took it up. " I must say, Huldy's a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'sponsi- bilities she don't know nothin' about." Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed till they'd drinked up all the tea in the tea-pot, and then they went down and called on the parson, and told him that it was no way to leave everything to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about for an experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em, but he thought to himself, " Huldy is a good gal ; but I oughtn't to be a-leavin' everything to her, — it's too hard on her. I ought to be instructing and guidin', and helpin' of her." So at it he went ; and Lordy massy ! didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister began to come out of his study, and went to see to things ! " Huldy," says he one day, " you ain't experienced out doors, and when you want to know anything you must come to me." " Yes, sir," says Huldy. " Now, Huldy," says the parson, " you must be sure to save the turkey-eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving." " Yes, sir," says she; and she opened the pantry-door and showed him a nice dishful she'd been a-savin' up. Wal, the next day the parson's hen-turkey was found killed. Huldy, she felt bad about it, 'cause she'd set her It is not absolutely true to say that the head is zn the eccentric state because it is raised; for it may be that, raised as it is, the direction of the eye may be even higher than it, and, in that case, the head might, although raised, pre- sent the aspect of the concentric state. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 103 heart on raisin' the turkeys, and says she, " Oh, dear ! I don't know what I shall do." " Do, Huldy?" says the parson; "why there's the other turkey ; out there by the door and a fine bird, too, he is." Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a-struttin' and a-sidlin' and a-quitterin' and a-floutin' his tail- feathers in the sun, like a lively young widower, all ready to begin life over again. " But," says Huldy, " you know he can't set on eggs." " He can't? I'd like to know why," says the parson. " He shall set on eggs, and hatch 'em, too. What else be they good fer? You jest bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in the nest, and I'll make him set on 'em." " O doctor !" says Huldy, all in a tremble ; cause, you know, she didn't want to contradict the minister, "I never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs." But she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest; and then she come back and found old Tom a-skirmishin' with the parson pretty lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old Tom didn't take to the idee at all ; and he flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson ; and the par- son's wig got 'round so that his cue stuck out straight over his ear ; but he'd got his blood up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine, so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round him. " There, Huldy," he says, quite red in the face, " we've got him now ;" and he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket. Huldy came behind, jest chokin' with laugh. The first great thing to be acquired is flexibility of the joints. Free the channels of expression, and the current of nervous force can rush through them as a stream of water rushes through a channel, unclogged by obstacles. —Genevieve Stebbins. 104 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, " Now, Huldy, we'll crook his legs and set him down," says the parson, when they got to the nest ; " you see he is gettin' quiet, and he'll set there all right." And the parson he sot him down, and old Tom he sot there solemn enough, and held his head down all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock, as long as the parson sot by him. " There, you see how still he sets," says the parson. Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh. "I'm afraid he'll get up," says she, "when you do." " Oh, no, he won't," says the parson, quite confident. '' There, there," says he, layin' his hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when the parson riz up, old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the eggs. " Stop, now !" says the parson. " I'll make him get down agin ; hand me that corn-basket ; w r e'll put that over him." So he crooked old Tom's legs and got him down agin ; and they put the basket over him, and then they both stood and waited. "That'll do the thing, Huldy," says the parson. "I don't know about it," says Huldy. " Oh, yes, it will, child. I understand," says he. Jest as he spoke the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see old Tom's long legs. " I'll make him stay down, confound him," says the parson ; for, ye see, parsons is men, like the rest on us, and the doctor had got his spunk up. " You jest hold him a minute, and I'll get somethin' that'll make him stay, I guess ;" and out he went to the fence, and brought in a long, thin, flat stone, and laid it on old Tom's back. _ * Dynamic reflections are produced by three movements: direct movements, rotary movements, and movements of flexion in the arc of a circle. — Del- sarte. _ ^ * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 105 Old Tom he wilted down considerable under this, and looked railly as if he was goin' to give in. He stayed still there a good long spell, and the minister and Huldy left him and come up to the house ; but they hadn't more than got in the door before they see old Tom a-hippin' along, as high steppin' as ever, savin' "Talk! talk! talk!" and "quitter! quitter! quitter!" and struttin' and gobblin'. " Oh, my eggs !" says Huldy, " I'm afraid he's smashed them !" And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the stone. Wal, next week Huldy she jest got a lot o' turkey- eggs and set a hen on 'em, and said nothin'; and in good time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks as ever ye see. Xot long arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have a pig to be a-fattin' with the buttermilk, and old Tim Bigelow told him if he'd call over he'd give him a little pig. So he went for a man, and told him to build a pig-pen out by the well, and have it all ready when he come home with the pig. Wal, the carpenter he didn't come till most the mid- dle of the arternoon; and then he sort o' idled, fixed the well-curb, and went off and said he'd come and do the pig-pen next day. Wal, arter dark. Parson Carryl he driv into the yard, full chizel, with the pig. He'd tied up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see what he thought was the pig-pen — he was rather near- sighted, — and so he ran and threw piggy over, and went into the house quite delighted. 4- * Probably not one man in a hundred ever stopped to think that he cannot make a single gestzire zvith the unconscious grace of a child or an animal* for the simple reason that an arbitrary volition is so impacted in each fnuscle that he controls every sinew artificially without knowing it. He is unconsciously constricted fro7ti head to foot. — Nym Crinkle. 4« 4« 106 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. " There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig," says he. " Dear me !" says Huldy; " where have you put him ?" " Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure." " Oh, dear me !" says Huldy, " that's the well-curb; there ain't no pig-pen built," says she. " Lordy massy !" says the parson. " Then I've thrown the pig in the well !" Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in the bucket, but he w T as dead as a door-nail ; and she got him out o' the way quietly, and didn't say much ; and the parson, he took to a great Hebrew book in his study, and says he, " Huldy, I ain't much in temporals," says he. Wal, Mis' Deakin Blodgett an' Mis' Pipperidge begun to talk that it railly wasn't proper, such a young gal to be stayin' there, who everybody could see was a-settin' her cap for the minister. Mis' Pipperidge said that so long as she looked on Huldy as the hired gal she hadn't thought much about it; but Huldy was takin' on airs as an equal, an' appearin' as mistress o' the house in a way that would make talk if it went on. And Mis' Pipperidge she driv 'round up to Deakin Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them if they wasn't afraid that the way that the parson and Huldy was a-goin' on might make talk. Finally Mis' Sawin she says to Huldy, " My dear, didn't you never think that folk w T ould talk about you and the minister?" " No ; why should they ?" says Huldy, quite innocent. " Wal, dear," says she, " I think it's a shame ; but they say you're tryin' to catch him." ^ Outivard gesture being only t lie ecJio of the inward gesture which gave birth to it and rules it, should be inferior to it in development, and should be in some sort diaphanous. — Delsarte. t * DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 107 Huldy was a gal o' spirit, but it made her drefful un- comfortable. The minister he had the same thing from one of his deakins, and when he saw Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her, "What's the matter, my child ?" "Oh, sir !" says Huldy, " is it improper for me to be here ?" "No, dear," says the minister, "but ill-natured folks will talk; but there is one way we can stop it, Huldy — if you will marry me. You'll make me very happy, and I'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you ?" Next Sunday mornin', when the minister walked up the aisle with Huldy, all in white, arm-in-arm with him, and he opened the minister's pew, and handed her in as if she was a princess, wal, I guess there was a rustlin' among the bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, like corn poppin' on a shovel, and her eyes glared through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her a-fire; and everybody in the meetin'-house was a-starin', I tell ye. Wal, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson and Huldy at the door, shakin' hands and laughin'; for by that time they was about agreed that they'd got to let putty well alone. " Why, Parson Carryl," says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, "how you've come it over us." " Yes," says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his eye. " I thought," says he, " as folks wanted to talk about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em somethin' wuth talkin' about." Unlike speech, ivhich differs tvith different nationalities, the latiguage of gesture is the same among all classes, varying only in degree or i?itensity. A Frenchman uses the same muscles to express approval that an Italian uses; a Russian frowns as does an American, given the same emotion. A n English- man manifests disgust by the action of certai?i mouth-muscles, under the same emotion, as does an American Indian. — Mrs. Frank Stuart Parker. 108 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. Anna Katherine Green Rohlfs. HAD seen him in battle, and he was a man To watch in a conflict. I'd seen him when death Struck down at his feet the one comrade he loved; But never before, upon field or in camp, Had beheld in his face such a look of the grave As he brought yester night to the door of my tent. So dread in suggestion of anguish, I leapt In dismay to my feet. Was he ill? Was he hurt? But at that He was straight at my side with a bound. " Ay, in grief ! And you talk of it, you ! talk of grief ! but 'tis easy. We all talk of grief. But enough: I must tell You the whole or go mad. My friend," and his eyes Glared wildly on mine through his thick, fallen hair — " Have you loved? Yes? In the pause Of the death-dealing guns one may ask, may he not, Such a question as that of a man ?" For reply I drew from my bosom a curl that I kissed, And put back on my heart without words. Twas enough; He bent down at my side with a cry: u Is she fair? Has she eyes like a dove and a step like a deer, So gentle and wild ? Do you love her — O heaven! — With the force of your body, your spirit, and heart ? Ah! 'tis folly to ask. A woman must die * Every tone necessarily contains the tonic, its generator, the dom inant, its en- gendered, and the mediant, which proceeds from the other two. The reunion of these three tones, which makes them into one, forms the perfect chord. — Delsarte. • DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 109 Or turn false to be loved so. Pray heaven You may die ere you come to a passion like that!" Looking down, He took from his finger a ring, and then said: " She was pledged to me, friend; was my hope from a child; Was my life, you might say. In the mesh of her glance All my being was thralled. Not a dawn rose upon me But I woke with the thought of her beauty. Ah, I know Such a love is not good, that its passion undoes What its purity makes; but a man cannot choose His fate from the heavens, and this love, as it was, Was my fate. " Well, her heart gave response to my suit, And we had been wedded two long years ago. But love is ambitious. To give her a home I left her, and, far from her voice and her smile, Worked my way up to fortune. Oh, the long, long months! But they passed, and at length Came the day of return. Ah, that day ! Like a flame It flares ever before me. Her looks and her smiles Will not flit, will not fly. As we walked up the street The bells broke out ringing. For three months of doom I have heard them; they never have ceased in my ears. " But no dwelling on that. 'Tis enough I was happy that day. Ah, you wonder what now! You, sitting at ease in your tent, with the tress Of a tender, true woman like balm on your breast, Wonder what could have turned all this rapture to woe It is not ideas that move the masses; it is gestures. We easily reach the heart and soul through the senses. Music acts especially on the senses. It purifies them, it gives intelligence to the hand, it disposes the heart to prayer. -Delaumosne. * — ___ — --. - — _ . HO DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. In a moment. Ah, God! 'twas not much, not much! Only this: When I rose in the dusk from my guests (Twas my wedding-eve, friend) my beloved was gone ! Yes, yes, gone as certain as joy — Gone, gone, gone, gone ! Not a word of farewell, Not a look; just that smile that was love, or like love, And then this great gulf. " Oh, may the world Grow old and shrink up in the hands of the Lord Ere another night creep by like that! Not till morn Did they tell me the whole — how for weeks he had been In the town by her side; stealing up in the dusk To drop a stray rose in her hand — I say It was not until morning they told me all this; Meantime she was gone. "Well, I lived — lived to seek him. Do you know what that means ? By the chances of war You have been in your time the hunted, spent deer. Have you e'er been the hound ? Can you reckon of days When, with fire in your blood and revolt in your brain, You wandered the world with your eyes on the face Of each man that you met? And the nights — The nights without sleep, and the dreams, The visions that swam in the air, and made hot The breath of the north wind; the doubts and the hopes ! " For three months I lived thus, And then came despair. From the German frontier Rose a clamor for soldiers. I heard, and grew calm. The most powerful of all gestures is that which affects the spectator without his knowing it. — Dels arte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. in i It is well !' I exclaimed. ' Men are shot in the field; Let the enemy slay me.' So I came to the war." He paused here a moment, and drew from his breast A crumpled white paper, streaked over with blood, And laid it before me. " You say this was anguish, " he cried, " but I say It was nothing — just nothing. My friend, can you think What it were, or might be, if the woman you love — Nay, nay, hear me out — should be walking above The horrid, steep side of a gulf, and you saw Her footsteps draw nearer and nearer, and yet Were too far to shriek warning; and at last, as you looked, Behold her slip over .! — those eyes that you love, The forehead, the hair — saw her struggle and catch At some dizzy small branch that would hold but a breath, And you yet afar? Can you think what it were To hear her shriek out with assurance you'd heed And would come, and that instant, while heaven and earth Were one glare, and you rushed, to be caught, man, be caught In a network of hell which you could not escape, While she — your heart's own — O death ! Yet is that My soul-torment. Look here !" and his shaking hand smoothed The white paper before me. " Did you think she was false ? Exceptional talents require an exceptional public ivho can understand them and make them popular by applauding and explaining them. — Arnaud. 112 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. She was true, friend, was true; true as light, true as heaven. I have known it three hours. " Beguiled, do you see ? Wooed away from my side with some smooth, hurried tale, Till the length of the garden lay 'twixt us. Ah! ah! Is there vengeance in hell for such villains? The rest? You can guess how it happened — his sudden appeal — The carriage — the horses — her cry which we heard not — The rush and the night. Do you doubt it is true ? It is written here. See the tremulous lines How they cross and recross. But she's true! 'tis enough. Do you see all my anguish ?" With hand and with voice I strove in my pity to calm him; but he, Staggering backward, went on: " 'Tis not all. She is ~ held In his power by his spies ! he would wed her — great heaven! Make her countess or something; just stab her, I say! And she calls me, entreats me by all I adore, To come quick. Ha, ha! " and his awful laugh whirled On the night wind. " Come quick! And I'm bound! " How it came to this spot, when, I know not. It was put in my hand as I strode from the field By some one who cried, ' If you hasten, perhaps You have time still to save her.' Away to the chief 4 Sound contains three sounds: that of the tonic, the dominant, and the me- diant. The tonic {Father) necessarily generates the dominant {Son), and the mediant iHnly Ghost) proceeds necessarily frotn the first tiuo. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 113 I hurried, a madman. What was France to me now, Or the world? I fell down at his feet in despair; Told him all; showed my billet — in vain, all in vain! And to-morrow's the day of the battle!" As in that He had touched the whole depth of his woe, he flung up His arms to the sky for a moment, and then Sank down like one shot. When I rose from his side, The dread morn of battle flamed high in the east. Do you ask me for more ? Lift the end of that cloth And behold ! It is calm now, you see, sirs, quite calm. 'Twas not so yester eve. When he fell, all the din Of the battle served not to o'erwhelm from my ears The s^hriek that he gave. HAUNTED BY A SONG. Translated and Adapted from the French. [Those who have heard a catching melody at the opera and have been haunted by it for days, under all circumstances — and who has not thus suffered ? — will appreciate this monologue. In each place where the word is repeated several times, the reciter will fit them to the tune of the song and, of course, sing them. — Editor.] Jones [enters, pale and haggard\ AM all out of sorts ; I am miserable, I am wretched. I am quite a different creature from what I was two days ago. I was all right then. I went to the theatre, to the Casino. The play they gave was awfully funny. There was a young lady in it, and a young man who * It is easy to distinguish the man 0/ head, of heart, and of action. The first makes many gestures of the head; the second many of the shoulders; the last mo7'es the arms often and inappropriately . — Delaumosne. 114 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Music of Song in "Haunted by a Song." Allegretto. % fc& •*- A--, *=3 t=2$=L =fc -« — * n c-£l: i : :lz=j- :l: -A — h P 1 5 P — 3 « *— * * J :§: i=t t#£=* fe * f=£ «•• 4 -A N 1 wanted to marry the young lady, and some people who wanted to prevent the marriage, and some more people who wanted the marriage to take place— in short, I for- get all that happened, but it came out all right; they Inflection is the life of speech; the mind lies in the articulative values, in the distribution of these articulations and their progressions. The soul of speech is in gesture.— Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 115 got married in the end. Then they were all very happy, and they sang a song, tra la la la la la, etc. [Sings the whole tune.] Of course, I felt happy, too, as I left the theatre, for it was such a pretty air. It was very cold. I turned up my collar around my ears and hurried home, tra la la la, etc. When I reached my door, I rang the bell, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. I live on the top floor; I climbed the stairs quietly [singing under his breath], tra la la la la la la la la. I lighted my candle la la, undressed la la la, got into bed and fell asleep. [Snores on the same tune.] The next morning when I awoke the weather was superb, and I was in excellent mood ! I sprang up, tra la la la, plunged my head in the water, fl fl fl fl fl fl. I was in the best of spirits! Somebody knocked at my door. I went to open; it was my landlady, who handed in a letter. [Makes the motion of opening the letter and reading, while he sings.] Tra la la la la la la — oh! dear me! my poor aunt! on her death-bed! Quick! my hat, my overcoat, my umbrella! I reach the street, I hail a cab — " Coachman, Grand Central depot! A dollar extra for you if you go fast, fast, fast, fast!" I reached the station, left my umbrella behind me in the cab, cab, cab. No matter, I caught the train, train, train! [Out 0/ breath.] It was the express, press, press, press. My poor aunt ! I was fond of my poor aunt, even if she were only an aunt by marriage. When I arrived she died in my arms. I was distressed, tressed, tressed! Oh! I wish I could get rid of this tune. I had to attend The human body may be regarded as the expression of the soul. Hence it is possible to read a mans character, and even his very thoughts, in his coun- tenance and manner. Hence every change in character, as it becomes fixed. Produces a corresponding change in the countenance. Passion not only cor- rodes the heart, but also disfigures the expression of the face. — T. M. Balliet. Ii6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. to everything— newspapers, death-notices, tra la la la la la la la la. That tune was with me even as I followed her body to the grave. The undertaker said to me : "You seem all broken up, sir." "Oh!" I answered, " I am in despair pair, pair, pair, pair, pair ! ! !" I hate it ! I abominate it ! I — well, as long as I can't get rid of it, I shall use it to express my grief. [Sings.] I have just lost my poor auntie, I have just laid her in the ground, A small income she has left me, Therefore to mourn her I am bound. She was ever a good, kind woman, And her loss is to me severe, For I was her favorite nephew, So I hasten to drop a tear. Tra la la. Well, all was over at last. I took the train back to New York. My head was ready to burst, burst, burst. I got out at the Grand Cen-cen-cen-tral Depot, pot. I hurried through like a mad, mad, mad man, knocked down everybody, took the first street in front of me, then the first one to the left, the next one to right, right, right, another one to the left, brought up at the East River, gazed at the water, ter, ter, ter. Ah ! never to sing that any more ! To die ! I threw myself into the river and was drowned gl gl gl gl gl. [Sighs with satis J 'action .] When I came to, I was in the station-house. My clothes were drying before the fire, and that cursed tune was still throbbing through my brain. Tra la la la la la la la la, etc. [Exit in despair, humming the tune.] Sound is the reflection of the divine image. In sound there are three reflex images: the reflex of life, the reflex of the intellect, the reflex of loz>e. — Dkls arte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 117 AUCTIONING OFF THE BABY. VVTHAT am I offered for Baby? Dainty, dimpled and sweet From the curls above his forehead To the beautiful rosy feet; From the tips of the wee pink fingers To the light of the clear brown eye. What am I offered for Baby? Who'll buy? who'll buy? who'll buy What am I offered for Baby ? " A shopful of sweets ?" Ah, no! That's too much beneath his value Who is sweetest of all below! The naughty, beautiful darling! One kiss from his rosy mouth Is better than all the dainties Of East, or West, or South! What am I offered for Baby? " A pile of gold?" Ah, dear, Your gold is too hard and heavy To purchase my brightness here. Would the treasures of all the mountains, Far in the wonderful lands, Be worth the clinging and clasping Of these dear little peach-bloom hands? So, what am I offered for Baby? " A rope of diamonds?" Nay, If your brilliants were larger and brighter Than stars in the Milky W T ay, « — ■ ■ 1 Articulate language is WSak because it is successive. It inust be eminciatsd phrase by phrase; by IC^^j syllables, tetters, consonants, and vowels. — Del- AUMOSNE. 4, n8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Would they ever be half so precious As the light of those lustrous eyes, Still full of the heavenly glory They brought from beyond the skies? Then, what am I offered for Baby? " A heart full of love and a kiss?" Well, if anything ever could tempt me, 'Twould be such an offer as this! But how can I know if your loving Is tender, and true, and divine Enough to repay what I'm giving In selling this sweetheart of mine? So we will not sell the Baby! Your gold and gems and stuff, Were they ever so rare and precious, Would never be half enough! For what would we care, my dearies, What glory the world put on If our beautiful darling were — going; If our beautiful darling were — gone! THE LITTLE WHITE BEGGARS Helen W. Ludlow. ^HE small waves came frolicking in from the sea, Leaping the rocks where the big breakers roar ; Snowy crests tossing, so proud to be free, Racing and chasing in baby-like glee Up the sand slope to the beach cabin door. Throned on the post of the sea-looking gate, Safe in the fold of my sheltering arm, Breathing is a threefold act: inspiration, suspension, expiration. — Del- SARTE. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 119 Sat three-year old Dick, like a king in his state, Little feet drumming at rapturous rate — Small King Canute, do the waves own thy charm ? Do I slander the soul of my small human boy? " Look out, then, my Dick, over ocean's blue floor, And tell me what fancies those deep thoughts employ. Ha! Dick, see them come! Do you join in the joy Of the little white horses all racing for shore?" The tiny, uplifted arm paused in the air, The blue eyes grew thoughtful, the breeze-tousled head Shook sunbeams around, and the sweet little pair Of coral lips, trembling with utterance rare, " Doze isn't white horses," he earnestly said. " What, not little horses, Dick? See how they run, All their curly white manes floating back on the sea, Dashing the drops up to shine in the sun, Racing and chasing — what glorious fun!" " No, no; doze is 'ittle white beggars," said he. " Tttle white beggars," he murmured again. "Ob, little white breakers, you mean, I suppose." "Not 'ittle white b'akers " — suggestion was vain, My wisdom rejected with baby disdain — " Tttle white beggars dey is; I knows." " Little white beggars — well, that's an idea ! Then perhaps you can tell so we'll all understand, What these little white beggars come begging for here ?" And the soft baby lips whispered, close to my ear, " Dey begs for de wocks, an' de sea-weed, an' sand." Gesture is magnetic, speech is not so. Through gesture we subdue the most ferocious animals. — Delaumosne. 120 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. GRANDFATHER WATTS'S PRI- VATE FOURTH. H. C. BUNNER. C* RANDFATHER WATTS used to tells us boys ^~^ That a Fourth wan't a Fourth without any noise, He would say, with a thump of his hickory stick, That it made an American right down sick, To see his sons on the nation's day Sit round in a sort of a listless way, With no oration and no trained band, No firework show and no root beer stand, While his grandsons, before they were out of bibs, Were ashamed — great Scot! — to fire off squibs. And so each Independence morn Grandfather Watts took his powder-horn And the flint-lock shotgun his father had When he fought under Schuyler, a country lad. And Grandfather Watts would start and tramp Ten miles to the woods at Beaver camp; For Grandfather Watts used to say — and scowl — That a decent chipmunk, or woodchuck, or owl Was better company, friendly or shy, Than folks who didn't keep Fourth of July; And so he would pull his hat down on his brow, And march for the woods sou'east by sou'. But once — ah! long, long years ago; For grandfather's gone where good men go — One hot, hot Fourth, by ways of our own, Such short cuts as boys have always known, We hurried and followed the dear old man Every impression, to become a sensation^ must first be perceived by the in- telligence; and thus we may say of the sensation that it is a definite impres- sion. — Dels arte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 121 Beyond where the wilderness began, To the deep black woods at the foot of the dump, And there was a clearing and a stump — A stump in the heart of a great, wide wood; And there on that stump our grandfather stood, Talking and shouting out there in the sun, And firing that funny old flint-lock gun Once in a minute, his head all bare, Having his Fourth of July out there — The Fourth of July he used to know Back in eighteen and twenty, or so. First, with his face to the heaven's blue, He read the " Declaration" through; And then, with gestures to left and right, He made an oration erudite, Full of words six syllables long; And then our grandfather broke into song! And, scaring the squirrels in the trees, Gave " Hail, Columbia!" to the breeze. And I tell you the old man never heard When we joined in the chorus, word for word! But he sang out strong in the bright blue sky, And if voices joined in his Fourth of July, He heard them as echoes from days gone by. And when he had done, we all slipped back As still as we came, on our twisting track, While words more clear than the flint-lock shots Rang in our ears. And Grandfather Watts? He shouldered the gun his father bore And marched off home, nor'west by nor'. The plastic art allies itself particularly to the physical constitution, but the physique cannot be perfectly beautiful unless it manifests intellectual and moral faculties. — Arnaud. 122 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. A MODERN VERSION OF THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. Joseph Barber. T N the city of Venice, blank-blank Anno Domini, Lived one Signor Antonio, who seemed, to the common eye, As much richer than any who there turned a penny, As the richest plum-pudding is richer than hominy. He had made piles of rocks by shrewd corners in stocks; Had "collateral" no end in his Herring's strong box; Owned of steamers whole lines, several Idaho mines, And had ne'er known financial disaster; In short, was a man of pith, pluck, and elan. In whom nature had blent, on the composite plan, The vim of the well-known Cornelius Van, With the prudence of William B. Astor. To him came one day, in a terrible way, Bassanio, his friend, who'd been cleaned out in play, And says he: " Won't you loan me three thousand, now say ? It's all right; I've resolved my addresses to pay To that Belmont girl, Portia, the heiress. Her affections I'll win — Tony, tip us your fin; My hand on't, I'll cancel the debt with her tin, When together, her brown granite palace within, We set up our Penates and Lares." " Not a word more, dear Bass," said Antonio; " the lass You shall marry if my help can bring it to pass; But I'm short of the ready, just now, by the mass! Speech is an act posterior to will, itself posterior to love; this again posterior to judgment, posterior in its turn to memory, which, finally, is posterior to the impression. — Delsarte. D ELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 123 Having largely invested in cotton. Never mind about that, though, my paper's first-class And the cash can be easily gotten." The friends then went forth and found Shylock, a Jew, Accustomed good bills and good Christians to "do," To whom said Antonio: " Here, Shy, you Yahoo, Advance me three thousand for three months, and you May prescribe your own terms as a lender." Quoth the Hebrew:* u I will; here's a quill; draw a bill, And in lieu of all interest (I won't take a mill, Though you've oft called me usurer, and treated me in) Say a pound of your flesh — this is only a joke — Shall be mine, should the contract on your part be broke Ere your ninety-day note I surrender." The queer bargain was made, the three thousand was paid, And Bassanio, with young Gratiano, his aide, Went to Belmont to woo the before-mentioned maid. (Mind, by Belmont I don't mean that blandest of bankers, Who owns lots of thoroughbreds, regular spankers, But a home near Lake Como, whereat that young homo, Bassanio, expected to play major-domo.) Arrived there, the guest to make merry was pressed, For Portia of all her beaux liked him the best; And admitted if she could but have her behest, No power under heaven should sunder 'em. * Here is offered an opportunity to insert Shylock's reply from the original. Art is only i>aluable as it expresses goodness and greatness in the soul. Imi- tation may imitate the expression, but it can always be detected as imitation, and resembles truth as nearly as the cloud on a painted canvas is like one on heaven's canopy. — Genevieve Stebbins. 124 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. But, alas! her fair self and, still worse, all her pelf Had been willed by her father, cranky old elf, To the man who should choose, from three jars on a shelf, The reply to a certain conundrum. I'm most happy to state 'twas Bassanio's fate To guess it; and Portia, declining to wait, That night the young gentleman married. Also, " same time and place," fair Nerissa, her maid, Espoused Gratiano, Bassanio's aide; But not long with their dear ones they tarried. O'er the wires came a flash, their enjoyment to dash, To this purport : " Antonio all gone to smash; Can't take up that note ; not a dollar in cash. Jew angry ; protests that A.'s bosom he'll gash, Come quick, or there'll be a most awful squabash. All Antonio's ' specs ' have miscarried." I ought to have mentioned before, by the way, That the Jew's only daughter, a frolicsome fay, Had eloped with a friend of Bassanio's, one day, Taking with her large sums from his cash-box, Which they say seemed almost to madness to goad him. By daughter and ducats thus given the slip, The old anti-Christian, miserly rip, Was delighted Antonio to catch on the hip, And feed fat the old grudge that he owed him. When Bassanio's bride of the telegram heard, She smiled a sad smile, and said, " Bassy, my bird, Though this failure has inopportunely occurred, You must go to your bankrupt friend's succor. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 125 Take six thousand — take more, take the sum ten times o'er — What is money to me when the man I adore Has a friend in this horrible pucker !" Her beloved faltered " Yes," gave his darling a kiss, Gratiano did likewise to pretty Neriss, And the twain — slightly under the weather At the thought of postponing their honeymoon's bliss — Took the first train for Venice together. They had scarce turned their backs, when said Portia : " Suppose, Dear Nerissa, we follow them, under the rose, I disguised as a lawyer, and you in the clothes befitting an amanuensis. Twas arranged, tout de suite. In black costumes com- plete, Procured ready-made, that reached down to their feet, They started next day their dear husbands to cheat — Portia paying, of course, all expenses. It was high noon in Venice, the court was assembled ; The Jew was malignant, the prisoner trembled, And Bassanio was pleading, with eyes red and watery, To save his friend's breast from " the actual cautery," When, during a pause, a young doctor of laws, Sent from Padua to try " the great pound-pf-flesh cause," Appeared on the scene and proceeded to charge (Citing cases in point and the statutes at large) That the Hebrew, though bloodthirsty, vile, and reputed A foul, heathenish dog, that deserved to be booted — Had "a clear case in law," and could not be nonsuited. It is through opposition that the smile expresses moral sadness. — Delaumosne. 126 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. The Jew whetted his blade: " Lo! a Daniel," he said: ' Your laws to the four winds he pitches. Antonio prepare, your old torso lay bare, For my hand to dig into it itches." But "tarry a little," the doctor replied; "Take your quota of flesh, but of life's crimson tide, If thou spillest one drop, all thy goods to the state Are by law — and thou lovest the law — confiscate. But take notice, I pray thee, thou cannibal hound, Cut, avoirdupois, to a hair's breadth, a pound. A mistake of one scruple, unscrupulous Jew (Ah! thy visage may well turn green, yellow, and blue), Will not merely thy property place at our beck, But a proper tie put round that infamous neck." " Is that so?" whimpered Shylock, his lips white with foam, "Please to pay the note thrice, then; I want to go home." But " No, stop!" cried the doctor; " the law hath a hold, Even now, on this usurer's ill-gotten gold. Here's an act that declares if an alien attempt A citizen's life, all his goods — naught exempt — Shall be seized on at once for the state's ' privy coffer; ' So this fellow, at best, is a ducatless loafer, And his life even now lies within the duke's mercy, Who may grant it, perhaps — or, perhaps, vice versy." The upshot of all was that Shylock agreed To turn Christian — the scamp — if from punishment freed; And the court, out of pity, condemned him to deed Expiration is an element of trust, expansion, confidence, and tenderness. If the expression contain both pain and love, the inspiration and the expiration will doth be noisy. — Delsarte. DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 12; All his goods to his runaway daughter! Then the doctor and clerk, with a dexterous jerk, Doffed the toggery they'd worn for professional work, And each wife, with a saucy, self-satisfied smirk, Sought the arms that delightfully caught her. Something more might I say, if I followed the play* But the finishing scene is rather too ''gay;" And as double entendres are not in my way, I will here, with permission, the green curtain draw On this drama of love, lucre, logic, and law. Moral. With regard to the moral, on Shylock it centres, To whom " lust of flesh " brought the worst of adven- tures; It is this — truer proverb you ne'er set your eyes on — 5 i What is one person's meat, is another one's poison." PIANO-MUSIC THIRST a soft and gentle tinkle, Gentle as the rain-drop's sprinkle ? Then a stop, Fingers drop. Now begins a merry trill, Like a cricket in a mill; Now a short, uneasy motion, Like a ripple on the ocean. See the fingers dance about, Hear the notes come tripping out; How they mingle in the tingle It is necessary only that there should exist a degree of individuality, some- thing" novel, a distinguishing tone, and an artistic physiognomy peculiarly one's own. Servile imitations, plagiarism, stupid adaptations, put to death all art and all poetry. — Arnaud. ^ 128 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, Of the everlasting jingle, Like to hailstones on a shingle, Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingle Of a sheep-bell ! Double, single, Now they come in wilder gushes, Up and down the player rushes, Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes. Now the keys begin to clatter Like the music of a platter When the maid is stirring batter. O'er the music comes a change, Every tone is wild and strange; Listen to the lofty tumbling, Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling, Like the rumbling and the grumbling Of the thunder from its slumbering Just awaking. Now it's taking To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking; Heads are aching, something's breaking — Goodness gracious! it is wondrous, Rolling round, above, and under us, Like old Vulcan's stroke so thunderous. Now 'tis louder, but the powder Will be all exploded soon; For the only way to do, When the music's nearly through, Is to muster all your muscle for a bang, Striking twenty notes together with a clang: Hit the treble with a twang, Give the bass an awful whang, And close the whole performance With a slam — bang — whang ! Inspiration should always be followed by a suspensive silence; otherwise the lungs, agitated by the act of inspiration, perform the expiration badly. — Del- sarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 12Q THE COBRA Miller Hageman. ROUCHED about each other ciosely, measuring each glance mo- rosely, Bent a group of midnight gam. biers over cup and card and cheat; When, with countenance ap- palling, to his startled com- rades calling, One of them with ghostly whis- per gasped from out his winding-sheet: " Hush, for God's sake, hush, I feel a cobra crawling round my feet!" And sank backward in his seat. In his lifted hand clutched tightly, as the burning lamp shone brightly, Gleamed the winning card, whose bloodspots seemed some horror to portray; But as that dread weight upon him told him death's cold hand was on him, As the lion at the hunter stares w T ith paw upon the prey, So he stared in palsied terror at that card he dared not play, While that cobra round him lay. The classic eras of study of generalities and of classes have passed. The ro- mantic time has gone by. Our -modern age has come with its study of the individual in expression. The so-called fine arts have had their day, and the individual man already demands that the arts of mankind shall be ob- served now. " The statue has become a living many — Franklin H. Sargent. 130 BE IS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Back each chill spectator started as from ghost of one departed, While below that haunted table every eye was quickly cast; Where, beneath the cover hiding, round the gambler's ankles gliding, In the dark a deadly cobra was distinctly seen at last, That had coiled itself about him till at length his feet were fast, Till each comrade stood aghast. One by one they drew back gently from the wretch, whose eye intently Three characteristics may be attributed to respiration: vocal, logical, pa- thetic, or passional. — Dels arte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 131 Followed them as they receded through the shadows of the room; For each face too plainly told him that no hand should e'er unfold him From those cold and clammy cerements, those chill cerements of the tomb. While, from underneath the table, craning up from out the gloom, Shone a deadly eye of doom. Slowly round the gambler toiling, sinuously coiling, coiling, Crept the cobra, higher, higher, up the limbs, the loins, the breast; Slowly round his body bending, all its angry hood distending At the vulgar jewels flaming on the gambler's velvet vest, Upward on its awful errand by its victim little guessed, Upward still that cobra pressed. Tightly round that arm entwining craned that lidless eyeball, shining On the red card flashing o'er it fiercely as a blood- stained brand; When, without an instant's warning, suddenly, as if in scorning For that despicable, damning deed it seemed to under- stand, See! its runs its flickering tongue out, hisses, gleets its poisoned gland Through the gambler's bleeding hand. To think of the Delsarte method as a svstem of gesture only, is to think nar- rowly and restrictively. Expression is the interior mind or soul manifesting itself through the exterior substance or body. The Delsarte philosophy, then, is an analysis of the psychic elentent of man as made from, the standpoint of I manifestation. — Moses True Brown. 132 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. "Fiend!" he cried, "whence art thou, whither? who this night hath sent thee hither, Thou who standest here before me wrapt in cowl of Capuchin; Thou who thus upon me stealing, round me this dread coil art reeling? Art thou some avenging spirit, some dire bodiment of sin, Through whom Satan thus hath darkly to my lost soul entered in, This last game of life to win? "Art thou, gliding from the garden, one whom God refused to pardon, One whose poison through my pulses naught can fol- low or o'ertake; One whose dark temptations found me, grew up stealth- ily around me, Till at last bad habits bound me with these chains I cannot break?" Then, as mind and memory wandered, sadly to that deadly snake, Still the dying gambler spake. " 'Tis a dream; the past comes o'er me. Lo, there rises one before me From whose waving hand I wandered when life's day was in its dawn; Through the gateways of the city, cold alike to pain and pity, Smooth knaves whispered, bright jades beckoned, till their toils were round me drawn, Inspiration is an element of dissimulation, concentration, pain. — Del- SARTK. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 133 Till I drank, staked, won, lost, borrowed, lost again, stole, put to pawn All I had till all was gone. " 'Tis her arm around me wreathing, 'tis — what means this hissing breathing? Comrades, help! the room swims around me; quick! my pulses reel and nod; Quick! the warning grows; I'm dying! Oh, that I this night were lying In those empty arms that loved me, on that broken heart I trod With the iron heel of scorning down into the daisied sod, O my mother! O my God !" Dimly then above the table ebbed the lamp, no longer able On that face to smile serenely as the poison played its part; While, about the gambler glancing, like dissolving col- ors dancing, On the oscillating darkness with kaleidoscopic art, Brightly flashed that lidless eyeball, javelling its drink- ing dart, Through his conscience-stricken heart. " Fiend!" he cried, as it grew stronger, " I can stand that look no longer. By this pain that works within me, by this awful death so nigh, Take that lidless eyeball off me; take it off, I curse thee, scoff thee! * The suspension or prolongation of a movement is one of the great sources oj effect It is in suspension that force and interest consist. A good thing is worth being- kept in sight long enough to allow an enjoyment of the view. — Delaumosne. 134 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. Now I know thee! thou art conscience; I will never, never die With the eye of conscience on me !" Then a loud hiss made reply: " Conscience never shuts its eye." Black and swollen and distorted grew his face, while round him sported The fierce snake in gleaming fury, hissing at his fright- ful pain; Till, with one wild shriek, he seized it, in his stiffening death-grip squeezed it Till its ghastly eye protruded, till it swelled in every vein; Bent it, shook it, flung it from him horribly, but all in vain; Still that eye turned back again. Maddened by the deadly ichor, as the poison quick and quicker Boiled and bubbled through his pulses, tight and tight- er grew his hold; Till, for breath the cobra gasping, coil on coil around him clasping, With its gnarled and knotted muscles twisting in each writhing fold, See ! it stings itself, it blackens, till from out his grasp, behold! Red, that bloodshot eyeball rolled ! Slowly died the light around him; mute and motion- less they found him, When the deadly fray was over, sitting bolt within his chair; The articulation of the syllables la, mo, po, is a useful exercise in habituat- ing one to the medium voice. These are the musical consonants par excellence. They give charm to, and develop the voice. We can repeat these tones without fatiguing the vocal chords, since they are produced by the articulative appa- ratus.— -Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 135 With the snake about him tangled, in his stiffened fin- gers strangled, Each upon the other glowering with a wild, defiant glare, Eyeball upon eyeball shining through the solemn dark- ness there, Conscience fixed upon Despair ! And with none, alas! to aid him, there they smoothed his lids and laid him With the cobra in his death-clutch down beneath the haunted heap; Where, upon his dreamless pillow, turned for him where drooped the willow, In the grave beyond the billow, that lone grave so dark, so deep, In that grave that lidless eyeball still its solemn watch doth keep, Conscience staring in its sleep. lull ■ i: mm- STA*.Nft|of5.M "m The expression of nature by gesture, face , or voice will not come to the ar- tist by inspiration nor by reflection, especially in extreme situations, — Ar- naud. * 136 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. FAITH AND WORKS. William H. Montgomery. ITTLE Mollie and Faith, in the arbor at play, Were making a marigold crown, When a noise on the lawn made the little ones jump And scatter the gold flowers down. And, fast toward the bower of blossoms and vines, Came a quadruped, bristling and big, With sharp-pointed toes, and a queer, grunty nose, In short, 'twas a terrible pig. "Oh, mercy!" screamed Faith, " where, where shall we go? Oh, mamma, oh, papa, come here! He's going to tear us to pieces, I know," And she jumped up and down in her fear. But Mollie, more brave, raised the old crooked gate, And slammed it quite hard to its place ; Then Faith, kneeling down on the moss-covered ground, Toward the sky turned her little pale face. " Now, Mollie, I'll pray to our Father in Heaven To save us and drive him away. That's the very best thing in the world to be done, You hold the gate strong while I pray." — — * When two limbs follow the same direction, they cannot be simultaneous without violating the law of opposition. Therefore, direct movements should be successive, opposite movements should be simultaneous. — Delsarte. * DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 137 Dear mamma's blue eyes twinkled bright through her tears, When the marvelous story was told Of the prayerful escape of her two little girls From the monster, so savage and bold. HOW BURLINGTON WAS SAVED. C. Mair. A STORY worth telling our annals afford, 'Tis the wonderful journey of Laura Secord. Her poor crippled husband came home with the news That Bcerstler was nigh ! " Not a minute to lose, Not an instant," said Laura, " for stoppage or pause — I must hurry and warn our brave troops at Decaw's." " What ! you !" said her husband, " to famish and tire !" " Yes, I !" said brave Laura, her bosom on fire. "And how will you pass the gruff sentry?" said he, " Who is posted so near us ?" "Just wait till you see; The foe is approaching, and means to surprise Our troops, as you tell me. Oh, husband, there flies No dove with a message so needful as this — I'll take it, I'll bear it. Good-bye, with a kiss." Then a biscuit she ate, tucked her skirts well about, And a bucket she slung on each arm, and went out. 'Twas the bright blush of dawn when the stars melt away, Expression, beside the description of the object, may explain the subject or interior emotion, and is then not imitative, but suggestive, elliptic, and mys- tic. — Franklin H. Sargent. * 138 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. Dissolved like a dream by the breath of the day; But Laura had eyes for her duty alone; She marked not the glow and the gloom that were thrown. Behind was the foe, full of craft and of guile ; Before her a long day of travel and toil. " No time this for gazing," said Laura, as near To the sentry she drew. " Halt! You cannot pass here." "I cannot pass here! Why, sirrah, you drowse, Are you blind? Don't you see I am off to my cows?" " Well, well, you can go." So she w r ended her way To the pasture's lone side, where the farthest cow lay, Got her up, then knelt down, and, with pail at her knees, Made her budge, inch by inch, till she drew by degrees To the edge of the forest. " I've hoaxed, on my word, Both you and the sentry," said Laura Secord. With a lingering look at her home, then away She sped through the wild wood — a wilderness gray, Where the linden had space for its fans and its flowers, The balsam its tents, and the cedar its bowers; Where the lord of the forest, the oak, had its realm, The ash its domain, and its kingdom the elm. And denser and deeper the solitude grew, The underwood thickened, and drenched her with dew. She tripped over moss-covered logs, fell, arose, Sped, and stumbled again by the hour, till her clothes * — * Every agreeable or disagreeable sight makes the body react backward, The degree of reaction should be in proportion to the degree of interest caused by the sight of the object. — Delsarte. * DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK 139 Were rent by the branches and thorns, and her feet Grew tender and way-worn and blistered with heat. She stopped — it was noonday. The wilds she espied Seemed solitudes measureless. " Help me!" she cried; Her piteous lips parched with thirst, and her eyes Strained with gazing. The sun in his infinite skies Looked down on no creature more hapless than she. One moment she faltered. Beware ! What is this? The coil of the serpent ! the rattlesnake's hiss! One moment, then onward. What sounds far and near? The howl of the wolf, yet she turned not in fear. She toiled to the highway, then over the hill, And down the deep valley, and past the old mill, And through the next woods, till, at sunset, she came To the first British picket, and murmured her name; Thence, guarded by Indians, footsore and pale, She was led to Fitzgibbon, and told him her tale. For a moment her reason forsook her; she raved, She laughed, and she cried — " They are saved, they are saved !" Then her senses returned, and, with thanks loud and deep Sounding sweetly around her, she sank into sleep. And Bcerstler came up, but his movements were known, His force was surrounded, his scheme was o'erthrown By a woman's devotion; on stone be it engraved. The foeman was beaten, and Burlington saved. * The opposition of the agents is the harmony of gesture. Harmony is born 0/ contrasts. From opposition, equilibrium is born in turn. Equilibrium is the great law of gesture, and condemns parallelism. — Delaumosne. 140 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. A KNIGHT of gallant deeds ** And a young page at his side, From the holy war in Palestine Did slow and thoughtful ride, As each were a palmer, and told for beads The dews of the eventide. " O young page/' said the knight, " A noble page art thou! Thou fearest not to steep in blood The curls upon thy brow; And once in the tent, and twice in the fight, Didst ward me a mortal blow/' " O brave knight," said the page, " Or ere we hither came, We talked in tent, we talked in field, Of the bloody battle game; But here, below this greenwood bough I cannot speak the same." " Sir page, I pray your grace! Certes, I meant not so To cross your pastoral mood, sir page, With the crook of the battle-bow. But a knight may speak of a lady's face, I ween, in any mood or place, If the grasses die or grow. Flame contains the warmth of life and the light of the mind. As the soul contains and unites the life and the mind, so the Jlame warms and shines.— Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 141 " And this, I meant to say, — My lady's face shall shine As ladies' faces use, to greet My page from Palestine: Or speak she fair, or prank she gay, She is no lady of mine. " And this I meant to fear, — Her bower may suit thee ill! For, sooth, in that same field and tent, Thy talk was somewhat still; And fitter thy hand for thy knightly spear, Than thy tongue for my lady's will." Slowly and thankfully The young page bowed his head; His large eyes seemed to muse a smile, Until he blushed instead; And no lady in her bower, pardie, Could blush more sudden red — " Sir knight, thy lady's bower to me, Is suited well," he said. " A boon, thou noble knight, If ever I served thee! Though thou art a knight and I am a page, Now grant a boon to me — And tell me, sooth, if dark or bright, If little loved or loved aright, Be the face of thy ladye." Gloomily looked the knight: " As a son thou hast served me: A slight change of thought may alter the expression of the face^ but the at- titude should be held until a new impression is to be expressed. — Genevieve Stebbins. * 142 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. And would to none I had granted boon, Except to only thee! For, haply, then I should love aright, For then I should know if dark or bright Were the face of my ladye. " Earl Walter was a brave old earl, He was my father's friend; And while I rode .the lists at court And little guessed the end, My noble father in his shroud, Against a slanderer lying loud, He rose up to defend. " I would my hand had fought that fight And justified my father! I would my heart had caught that wound And slept beside him rather! I think it were a better thing Than murthered friend and marriage-ring Forced on my life together. " Wail shook Earl Walter's house — His true wife shed no tear — She lay upon her bed as mute As the earl did on his bier; Till — ' Ride, ride fast,' she said at last, 4 And bring the avenged son near! Ride fast — ride free, as a dart can flee, v For white of blee with waiting for me Is the corse of the next chambere.' Pathetic effects are nine in number, the principal of ivhich are as follows: the smothered tone, the ragged tone; the vibrant tone; the veiled tone; the flat or compressed tone. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 143 " I came — I knelt beside her bed — Her calm was worse than strife: 1 My husband, for thy father dear, Gave freely, when thou wert not here, His own and eke my life. A boon! Of that sweet child we make An orphan for thy father's sake, Make thou for our's a wife.' " I said: l My steed neighs in the court, My bark rocks on the brine; And the warrior's vow I am under now To free the pilgrim's shrine; But fetch the ring and fetch the priest And call that daughter of thine; And rule she wide from my castle on Nyde While I am in Palestine.' "In the dark chambere, if the bride was fair, Ye wis, I could not see; But the steed thrice neighed, and the priest fast prayed And wedded fast were we. Her mother smiled upon her bed, As at its side we knelt to wed; And the bride rose from her knee And kissed the smile of her mother dead, Or ever she kissed me. " My page, my page, what grieves thee so, That the tears run down thy face?" " Alas, like mine own sister Was thy lady's case! True grace in adults is not that ivhich is studied, nor that which is artisti- cally copied from a badly-chosen type. Grace is born of itself, the natural fruit of the culture of the mind, of elevated thoughts and noble sentiments. — Arnaud. 144 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. But she laid down the silks she wore And followed him she wed before, Disguised as his true servitor, To the very battle-place. ,, And wept the page, but laughed the knight, A careless laugh laughed he: "Well done it were for thy sister, But not for my ladye! My love, so please you, shall requite No woman, whether dark or bright, Unwomaned if she be." The page stopped weeping, he smiled no more, But passionately he spake: " Oh, womanly she prayed in tent, When none beside did wake! Oh, womanly she paled in fight, For one beloved's sake! And her little hand defiled with blood, Her tender tears of womanhood Most woman-pure did make!" " Well done it were for thy sister; Thou tellest well her tale! But for my lady, she shall pray F the kirk of Nydesdale. Not dread for me but love for me Shall make my lady pale. No casque shall hide her woman's tear — It shall have room to trickle clear Behind her woman's veil." The chest is a passive agent; it should furnish nothing but the breath. The mouth and the larynx alone are entitled to act. — Delsarte. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 145 " But what if she mistook thy mind And followed thee to strife; Then, kneeling, did entreat thy love, As Paynims ask for life?" " I would forgive, and evermore Would love her as my servitor, But little as my wife. " Look up — there is a small bright cloud Alone amid the skies! So high, so pure, and so apart, A woman's honor lies." The page looked up — the cloud was sheen — A sadder cloud did rush, I ween, Betwixt it and his eyes. Then dimly dropped his eyes away From welkin unto hill — Ha! who rides there? — the page is 'ware, Though the cry at his heart is still! And the page seeth all and the knight seeth none Though banner and spear do fleck the sun, And the Saracens ride at will. He speaketh calm, he speaketh low: " Ride fast, my master, ride, Or ere within the broadening dark The narrow shadows hide!" "Yea, fast, my page; I will do so; And keep thou at my side." " Now nay, now nay, ride on thy way, Thy faithful page precede! He only is a great orator who can utter reason without passion. — Moses True Brown. 146 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. For I must loose on saddle bow My battle-casque that galls, I trow, The shoulder of my steed; Ere night I shall be near to thee, Now ride, my master, ride!" Had the knight looked up in the page's face, I ween he had never gone; Had the knight looked back to the page's geste, 1 ween he had turned anon. For dread was the woe in the face so young; And wild was the silent geste that flung Casque, sword, to earth, as the boy downsprung, And stood — alone, alone! He clinched his hands as if to hold His soul's great agony; " Have I renounced my womanhood, For wifehood unto thee? And is this the last, last look of thine That ever I shall see? " Yet God thee save, and may'st, thou have A lady to thy mind; More woman proud and half as true As one thou leav'st behind! And God me take with Him to dwell— For Him I cannot love too well, As I have loved my kind." The tramp of hoof, the flash of steel — The Paynims round her coming! * : » Persuade yourself that there are blind men and deaf men in your awnence ■whom you muealed the life, soul, and wind. It is t/n appropriation of the sign to the thing. It is the relation of the beauties scat- tered through nature to a superior type. It is not, therefore, the niere imita- I Hon of nature. — Delsarte. ' o— .